


The Hitman and the Soldier - 23 Short Stories

by ruffleafewfeathers



Series: The Hitman and the Soldier [6]
Category: Sicario (2015), Sicario (Movies), Sicario: Day of the Soldado
Genre: 23 short stories, Alejandro gets hurt but Matt is there with him, Alejandro has a dream, Alejandro is jealous, Alejandro likes Matt's eyes, Alejandro likes music and Matt is in the shower, Alejandro's hair, Anniversary, El Medellín, Honeymoon, M/M, Matt comes back from overseas and needs a lot, Matt gets hurt but Alejandro is there with him, Matt is too greedy, Matt is trying to fix something and asks for help, Matt's cocky and gets more than he thought, Romantic Stuff, The Cargo Pants Disaster, What does it mean to love Matt?, a morning surprise, bare feet in the sand and the fucking best tiramisu, basically a late Advent calendar?, funny stuff, hot stuff, it's been a year, like a lot, sad stuff, scars and a memory, something in his drink, two rings and two lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-22 08:32:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17056388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruffleafewfeathers/pseuds/ruffleafewfeathers
Summary: A collection of 23 stories about our favourite murder husbands. Alejandro's POV.





	The Hitman and the Soldier - 23 Short Stories

**Author's Note:**

> Half of those stories are prompt replies for hurricane_in_space, what else? ;P 
> 
> There's a lot of stuff in here (breath play, depression, drugs, violence, blood). Feel free to ask me if you want to know which parts to skip before you read this.
> 
> Also, if you're looking for number 24 (we get presents here at the 24th, so no 25th story!) that should be up here somewhere later tonight. :)

#  **One**

—time Alejandro says yes. To Matt on his knees. Asking if he wants to marry him. They are eating at their favourite restaurant, not far from Matt's house. Italian. Fucking best pizza. Alejandro loves pizza. The owner knows them. He'd open the door at the weirdest hours when they got back from a job and craved good food and the best wine this side of the border. Matt’s words. A very small, family-run restaurant. Clean. Cosy. Tiny tables spilling out onto the terrace merging with the beach. A sunset like a painting. White tablecloth. Bare feet in the sand, toes touching ankles. To top off that evening, they’ve just had a tiramisu that basically melted on his tongue and made his toes curl in delight. He puts his fork down and leans back in his chair with a sigh. Perfect.

Matt looks at him with a strange expression. He has barely touched his dessert. Alejandro is about to make a remark about that when Matt fumbles with something in the pocket of his pants and puts it on the table, pushing it over to him. Two keys on a ring. Alejandro furrows his brows, but his heart skips a beat.

“You're basically living in my house anyway.”

Matt takes his fork again and picks at his tiramisu, trying to appear calm, but Alejandro can see the nervousness in the way he holds himself. He reaches across the table to cover Matt’s hand with his own, fork stopping to torture the dessert. Matt’s gaze comes up. The moment stretches.

“Thank you.”

Softly. He takes the keys. Warmth deep in his belly. Matt smiles. Brings the fork up, but stops again. He looks nothing short of miserable and Alejandro stares at his pale face as he puts the fork down like the sight alone makes him sick.

“Matt?”

Matt takes a deep breath, looks everywhere but not at him. When his eyes focus on Alejandro again, his gaze is intense. He swallows, so fucking nervous. Alejandro is utterly confused. And Matt pushes himself up from his chair, takes half a step around the small table and slides to his knees.

Alejandro’s heart stops. Cold and heat washing over him in waves. He stares at the man he loves, on his knees in the sand, bare feet, looking down, pushing out a deep, shaky breath. Matt looks like he’s breaking apart in front of his eyes. Alejandro wants to say something, anything, but Matt looks up at him, eyes welling up with tears, and opens his mouth. Struggles. Alejandro has never before seen him at a loss for words, the sympathy almost drowning out his own shock. Matt shakes his head, huffs out a breathy laugh.

“Fuck.”

Inhales. Deep.

“Alejandro.”

His gaze is boring into him, expression suddenly changing to determined.

“Marry me.”

Alejandro feels something heavy settle in his stomach. The words creating a new reality that came into existence the moment Matt dropped to his knees, but not quite taking form until now. Goosebumps all over his body. Matt licks his lips, starts to say something, but Alejandro bends forwards and takes his hands. Stands up, pulls him with him. Kisses him. Bright and bittersweet at the same time. Leans their heads together.

“Yes.”

Breathed against Matt’s lips. Matt closes his eyes. And Alejandro kisses away the tear at the corner of his eye. Salt. Heart running over with love. Holding him. This man that holds his life in his hands. Matt laughs. Shaky. And Alejandro smiles with him. Fuck yes, shaky.

 

#  **Two**

—rings. Two lives. Two hearts. He's had everything twice now. His old life, and he hates to call it that, feels like it's been lived by somebody else. Some memories are so clear, like he’s been told them over and over again or like he’s staring at a photo in which he can see all the details. Some are muddy, like an old video tape. Flickering. Slowly dying. He knows the gaps are getting bigger without him noticing. Less details. Memories changing, his brain adding things that never happened. He's always looking at them like a bystander. Watching a movie. Cut. Camera angle. Frame. Rewind. He's wearing someone else's wedding band, stealing someone else's memories, adding his own emotions on top of them. Some days he can almost live with the pain, reduced to a dull ache in a corner of his heart. Some days he's just screaming inside his own head. And then he looks at Matt. And Matt is always close, orbiting around him like a satellite, full of some wild, primal energy that must come to him straight from the earth. Rooted deeply. Storm-battered and sun-kissed. The more Alejandro wants to scream, the closer Matt gets. Inside his head and heart and under his skin. Until there's just him everywhere. His smell and taste. His words. Touching him everywhere, inside and out. He's burning bright. Alejandro wants to get close. The heat scorching his skin. But it's the pain of frozen fingertips that touch warmth again. Gagging on too much water after almost dying of thirst. Matt is like the sun. And maybe it's Alejandro really, orbiting around him. Two rings. Two lives. Two hearts. He's fumbling with his wedding band, thumb pushing it around his finger. White gold. Like he’s always done with Elena's. Gold. Matt suggested having the new ring on the other hand or just having no rings at all. But Alejandro is old-fashioned. He wanted rings. And he wanted this. Switching Elena's ring to his other hand. And it came off easier than he thought. Slipping it on was harder. Matt eyed him, careful, and Alejandro walked over to him and kissed him, let his lips linger. It's okay. And it was. He'd never thought this would be possible. Ever again. But the moment Matt asked him, the answer was easy. He wanted this. And he wanted him. Wanted this man. In his life. With him. He let Matt choose the rings. White gold, brushed, simple. Perfect. He loved how he could almost see how Matt's heart went crazy in his chest as he slipped the ring on Alejandro's finger. The amount of love he can see in Matt's eyes makes him speechless again and again. Wild love. Earth and storm and sun. Two rings. Two lives. Two hearts. He wants to be close to him. Always. Touch him and hear him and crawl into him because close is never close enough. He stares at his ring and his heart feels light. Looks at Matt, sprawled out in a deckchair with a book. And as if he can feel Alejandro's gaze, and he always can, he looks up. Alejandro smiles at him. Matt smiles too. And it's like the sun is burning a little brighter.

 

#  **Three**

—is the number of consecutive orgasms Matt has when his body decides it’s enough for one night. It kind of starts as a dare, Matt whispering into Alejandro’s ear at a formal meeting he has to attend and for which he actually dressed in a very nice suit. Alejandro wasn’t particularly keen on going, but Matt almost pleaded with him.

“It’s going to be the most boring thing in existence. We could fuck in the bathroom.”

Alejandro rolled his eyes and Matt came over and pressed his body against his side, brushing his hand down his chest to tease at his belt buckle. Alejandro said yes. To attending the event at least. He isn’t exactly comfortable with how careless they have become. Reckless, Matt said, reckless, we’re still careful. And people won’t even look at them anyway. Another eye roll.

And now they’re here. And people do actually look. At Alejandro who they have never seen before and who looks intense and moody in his dark suit, broad-shouldered and tall. Matt’s words. And Alejandro isn’t amused. And at Matt, who seems to know everybody and who’s charming his way through the crowd, shaking hands with all the important people while all the women stare at his ass in those grey dress pants. Which kind of amuses Alejandro. Matt looks like a fucking treat on legs in that suit, waistcoat and tie, sleeves of his shirt tucked up. Expression ranging from a charismatic smile to a grin that has people hanging on his lips. Nothing betrays how bored he actually is and how much he just wants to leave. He's perfect at this game.

But Alejandro can see all the looks Matt shoots him across the room whenever they aren't close to each other. And his expression is indeed getting reckless. With every passing hour, that gaze bores into him with more intensity, and Alejandro can see the moment when Matt just loses that last bit of patience. He waits for him at the buffet and he doesn't need to wait long. Matt gets close, body radiating arousal. Hot breath against his ear.

“How many times do you think you can make me come before I spill all over myself?”

Alejandro closes his eyes for a second, feels Matt's grin against his ear, his voice dripping sin.

“Get me out of here. And then fuck me in that bathroom.”

And he does. Does get him out of there, although that wasn't even hard. Gets him to the bathroom, expensive mirrors, expensive wood, expensive everything in here. Drags him into one of the stalls and gets down on his knees in there. Expensive tiles.

“Fuck yeah.”

He hears Matt's head tipping back against the wall when he swallows him down. Matt's hands in his hair, alternating between stroking and gripping tight. Sweet moans spilling from his lips. And Alejandro's mind wanders back to his earlier words. He pulls off and stands. Matt’s eyes open, confused.

“What?”

Alejandro wipes his mouth, adjusts himself in his pants.

“Let's go then.”

Matt's eyebrows crawl up. His breath uneven.

“Go where?”

With a grin, Alejandro unlocks the door.

“I thought you wanted me to get you out of here.”

Matt gapes.

“Yes, but… Wait, like this?”

He waves his hand at his very obvious situation and Alejandro takes pity. A little bit. He tucks him into his pants, which does basically nothing to hide Matt's impressive cock, straining up against the waistband of his pants. Gently pushes his head up with his knuckles under Matt's chin, pressing a kiss against his perfect lips.

“You don't seem to have a problem with that usually. I'm sure you'll manage.”

 

They stumble through the door to their hotel room, Matt clawing at his clothes, eager. Alejandro had made him drive and then kept running his hand up and down the inside of his thigh all the way back, keeping his cock hard, until Matt was squirming in his seat, hands gripping the wheel.

Jackets and waistcoat on the floor, shoes and socks and ties in a corner. Alejandro pushes him down on the bed, strips out of his own shirt and kneels between his legs. Matt struggles with his shirt while Alejandro opens his pants and sinks his mouth down on him again.

“God. Fuck.”

Alejandro glances up, watches Matt fumble with the buttons and holds his gaze while he sets a messy pace. Waits for that last button, then lets go and crawls up Matt's body to captures his mouth in a hungry kiss, hand wrapping around Matt's cock and stroking.

Matt makes desperate noises against his lips, fingers trying to open Alejandro’s pants but too far gone to achieve much. Alejandro's fist tightens around his cock, fast, thumb slipping over the head and pressing. Matt moans and Alejandro waits for him to get to the point where his voice drops down to a very deep timbre and his body starts to tense.

Waits for his breath to hitch, for his fingers to dig into his back. His free hand has already found its way down Matt's body, slipped behind his balls, searching for that delicate spot right there, palm gently pressing against his balls. When he feels Matt go completely taut, he presses the pad of his finger against his perineum and kisses him deep.

Matt goes wild. He clings to Alejandro, back arched, groans spilling into his mouth, wide open for Alejandro's tongue to take. Alejandro keeps his fist tight, guides him through it until he feels him shudder, gentles his movements, waits a little longer before his hands finally let go. He moans softly against Matt's mouth, his own cock pressing hard against his pants. Hands coming up to tangle in Matt's hair, to hold him while he kisses him, bites at his lip.

Matt is just pliant under his hands. It takes longer for him to come back when he comes like this, without ejaculating. And Alejandro loves to feel him this blissed out. Vulnerable and content. He doesn't wait for him this time though, Matt's words still ringing in his head and his own arousal spiking through his veins. He's only ever held him back once whenever they tried this and he's eager to see what would happen a second time.

He slides down Matt's body, leaving hot trails on his skin all the way down to his softening cock, and Matt stirs, fingers brushing through Alejandro's hair, not quite back yet. Alejandro licks at his cock, carefully coaxing it back to attention. Careful with the tip. Matt’s always really sensitive there after the first round, even his mouth almost too much, and Alejandro gently swirls his tongue around him, drawing slow circles, firm pressure, keeping everything real slick.

Matt starts to squirm, fingers curling in his hair.

“God, Alejandro…”

But Alejandro is curious now, wants to see how high he can get Matt who, after all, asked for this. He smiles and hums, gently taking the tip into his mouth, everything nicely wet, and pushes down very slowly. Matt groans, hands trying to push him away and pull him close at the same time. Alejandro swallows around him and is caught a little off guard by how hard Matt's hips buck up into him, a wrecked sound torn from his throat. Alejandro pushes down hard on his hips to keep him still, press him into the bed.

Matt keeps bucking up while Alejandro intensifies the pressure, pace kept slow and dragging. It doesn't take long until Matt is writhing on the bed in a pool of sweat, hands wrapped tight in the sheets, bucking and straining against Alejandro pushing him down. And Alejandro delights in those sounds he makes, incredibly turned on by the way Matt is begging him, desperately, for anything. But more. And stop. Too much. And he doesn't go any easier. Up and down. Slow, hot, slick. Burning pressure. Working him until he's rapidly falling apart under his hands and mouth.

He moves his hand down again, easily finding that spot now, drapes his other arm across Matt's stomach to keep him down, fingertip resting where he can feel that tube running under his skin, like a cable. The moment he starts sucking in earnest, he can barely keep Matt down. He's incoherent now. Moans tumbling into each other. Alejandro feels the skin pull taut, pulse under his fingertips. He presses down again. Sucks hard. Matt arches off the bed, completely silent, hands suddenly back in Alejandro's hair and pulling him down hard. Alejandro needs to press and push against him to not gag on his cock, but his heart is running wild with the way Matt loses it against him, his body a perfect arch of pure ecstasy.

Alejandro swallows although there's nothing to swallow, but the sensation seems to drive Matt crazy. He cries out, broken, clutches at his head, and Alejandro lets go of him. Matt slumps back into the bed, panting hard, still groaning, hips still bucking up, that wave dragging him under again and again.

Alejandro fumbles for the lube, with his own pants, his whole body aroused, excited with the intensity of Matt's orgasm, with the way he's writhing and moaning, skin flushed pink, sweaty, can't get off this sensation. And he wants to see if there's an even higher point, wants to feel Matt around him like this. He coats his fingers with lube, his cock, slick. A lot. Hands trembling. He doesn't want to hurt him. But he can barely restrain himself. Pushes Matt's legs up. Pushes one slick finger inside, a second right after that. Drags his other hand up and down Matt's cock. Slick. Coating him.

Matt’s breath hitches and Alejandro curls his fingers against his prostate, drags his thumb across the tip of his cock. Slick. Everything so slick. And when Matt arches into it and away from it at the same time, everything too sensitive, Alejandro lets go and presses inside in one slow, steady push. Tight. So tight. His breath is ragged and he leans his head against Matt's, eyes closed, trying to adjust to it, trying to keep himself from coming right there.

And Matt groans deep, arms and legs coming up to wrap around him. Alejandro can't help but rock into him, Matt wild against him, and he needs to stop. Once. Twice. Or Matt would have pulled him over the edge easily. He needs to stop, catch his breath, sweat running down his face. Slowly starts again.

And that turns into hard so quickly. He keeps one hand pushing against Matt's thigh to hold him open, catching deep, hips snapping frantic. Matt is hard again, but he doesn't want to touch him just yet, keep him there a little longer. Matt doesn't touch himself either, hands clawing at his shoulders. And suddenly Alejandro feels his body around him lift, arch, tense. So tight. He shifts his hand to press fingertips against that spot, to stop him, but he's either too late or it's too much.

He watches Matt's cock spill against his chest and stomach, muscles taut. And the sight of him, coming undone like that, without a hand wrapped around him, back arched, mouth open, that deep trembling groan vibrating through his body. Alejandro rocks into him, like he's pulled in by Matt's body. _Tighttighttight._ He slumps forward, crying out his own release against Matt's shoulder, the intensity of it washing him away.

But Matt's body just keeps going under him. He rolls against Alejandro, pushes down on him, and Alejandro feels him clench around his softening cock, waves of tightness, and he moans with Matt. It's too much really, but he wants him to ride it out like that. He presses close, holds him tight, feels Matt's body pulse hot around him, against him. He waits for him to come down, but it takes eternities until the strength of his orgasm seems to ebb away. Matt's breath is harsh against his skin, he's still moaning, biting at his shoulder, seems very far away.

Alejandro rolls them to the side, kicks a blanket out from under their legs and wraps it around them, wraps himself around Matt whose body is now shivering in his arms with bone-deep exhaustion, coming down from that high. He listens to Matt's heartbeat, thrumming frantically against his chest, listens to his breath getting easier, the moans less intense. It seems to take forever, but finally, finally he stops trembling in his arms, stirs slightly, gets more comfortable. Alejandro kisses his hair.

“Fuck.”

Matt's voice startles him. Sounds like he’s been screaming all day. Raw. Overwhelmed.

“I really wanted you to suck me off in that bathroom.”

And if he'd be able to do anything more than just breathe, Alejandro would roll his eyes in the most dramatic way possible. Instead, he hums, feels himself drift away.

“We can try that again next time.”

 

#  **Four**

—new marks on Alejandro's body. Four new scars. And it's not that he's hiding them, but he doesn't exactly mention them either. And of course, Matt notices.

They are sprawled out in his bed, floor-to-ceiling windows wide open, pushed to the side, letting in the warm breeze, clear now after the storm. Fresh. But the sun is already setting and Alejandro has slept through the bigger part of the day. Matt made them coffee. After he had changed the sheets. And after that, they slowly made love again. A contrast to the urgency of this morning. Matt taking his time to prepare him, made him pant hard already before he was even pushing into him, stretching him, the slow burn after Alejandro hasn't had that for almost a year. He savoured every moment of it, Matt holding back, tight pull and push, arousal heavy in his stomach.

He came for the fourth time that day and that totally wrecked him. Blissed out. Sprawled out on the bed, letting the breath of the sea ghost over his skin. Matt's head on his thigh and he's drawing patterns on Alejandro's skin, fingertips brushing over his hip and stomach. Alejandro never felt the need to hide the marks on his body, but he doesn't like the gazes either, the questions coming with them. Or not.

For Matt, they are part of his body like freckles would be, and he's mapping them with devotion.

“What's that?”

Matt cranes his neck to look at something higher up.

“Hm?”

 Alejandro looks at him from under heavy eyelids, feeling himself drift away again. God, he could sleep for days.

“Are those new?”

Matt pushes himself up and almost crawls over him to look at his left side, thumb brushing over tender skin. He looks up with a quizzical gaze.

“When did you get those?”

Alejandro makes a non-committal noise, links his fingers with Matt's over the four short lines of scarred skin at his waist. Not thicker than his finger and close together. Matt's gaze doesn't change, eyebrows furrowed, and Alejandro knows he won't step back now. He sighs.

“Pretty much at the beginning.”

And that sounds like a question to his own ears. Fuck. He pushes himself up on his elbows.

“It’s nothing, Matt. Just a couple of new scars.”

And damn if that doesn't get him really going. Alejandro can feel Matt tense where he's sprawled across his stomach.

“Nothing.”

And that's not a question. Anger seeping through.

“Those are from a knife. You want to tell me how getting stabbed in the side with a knife four times is nothing?”

And there it is again. Eleven months of absence not enough to drown that anger. That worry. Matt getting close to him so fast so easily. But that anger vanishes from his face just as quickly.

“Fuck. I'm sorry.”

Alejandro pushes himself up to sit, moving back against the pillows and tugging at Matt’s waist. He follows him easily, settles down between his legs. And Alejandro tells him.

 

How he had bargained a deal with a local gang in Bogotá and had walked alone, yes, stupidly alone, to the meeting point, a deserted warehouse. He had noticed someone following him pretty early on but decided to wait and see if it was one of them or if he belonged to a rival gang. He was sure it was another gang when a second young man appeared from a smaller alley.

The moment he realised he was wrong, it was pretty much too late. When he pulled his gun, a third guy that he hadn't seen emerged from the shadows right behind him and caught his wrist. One of them grabbed his other arm. They twisted them behind his back, hard, wrestling the gun from his hand, and before he could do much more than snarl, the third guy was right in his face, gripping his shoulder and stabbing his switchblade into Alejandro's side so fast he only felt the dull impact.

“Tell El Medellín we're not going to work for him.”

Harsh Spanish against his ear and they were gone. He turned around, tried to see if they had left the gun, but the world tilted around him and he had to press a hand against the nearest wall to not go down immediately. The pressure in his side became a dull throbbing. Red seeping through his shirt when he looked down. His whole side already soaked. He felt it trickling down his leg. Pulled up his shirt and wiped at the blood with his hand, but he couldn't stop the flow enough to see how bad it was or how many wounds there were. Enough to make him light-headed and to press his breath flat against his ribs.

The pain started when he began to walk. Searing hot in his side, radiating into his shoulder and hip. He tried to breathe through it, to concentrate on the pain to keep going, pressed his hand hard against his side. Pulled out his phone and hesitated. Just for a second. Calling an ambulance wasn't a good option, but dying wasn't really any better. He dialled the number. Chances were high he'd be dead anyway by the time they arrived.

His hand was slippery, blood smeared all over the screen, but his vision was blurry anyway. Ears ringing. He made it to the corner of the alley, stepping out onto the larger street, his only real chance to survive this, with the phone pressed to his ear. The moment the call got through and a female voice began to talk into his ear, he started to sweat. His face getting hot was the last thing before everything went white.

 

Matt looks at him, draped over his hips, elbow on the bed and his head propped up on his hand, leaning into Alejandro's hand where he has been stroking at the nape of his neck while he talked.

“You could have called me.”

Softly. They both know it wouldn't have changed a thing. Alejandro still shakes his head.

“To say goodbye?”

Matt's face twitches and so does Alejandro's heart, but it's the truth. That day had been a little too close.

“Someone found you?”

Alejandro nods.

“Yeah, pretty much saw me go down and called an ambulance. Patched me up, too. Must have known what he was doing or I wouldn't have made it until they arrived.”

Matt nods slowly, contemplating, looks at the four new scars and brushes his fingertips over them.

“I want you to tell me about stuff like this. Always.”

Alejandro presses his hand against the back of Matt's head, urges him to look up again.

“I know. But we haven't even been here for 24 hours and that wasn't exactly the first thing on my mind.”

His smile grazing on the edge of teasing and Matt's gaze grows hot. God, that man. Matt crawls up to him and kisses him deep. Licks at his lips. Looks at him. Quietly.

“And yes, even if just to say goodbye.”

Alejandro feels his heart tilt over, weight dragging at his insides. But before he can say anything, Matt's lips are at his side, tasting the new marks, mapping them, adding them to the collection. Alejandro sinks into the sensation of Matt's mouth against his skin, sinks into the pillow too, feels the tiredness clawing at him again. Feels Matt's hand stroke up the inside of his thigh. Feels Matt's cock brush against his leg. Hard. Matt humming. Alejandro groans.

“Oh god, you're gonna be the death of me!”

There's no way he's going to get even close to an erection right now, but Matt has always had the stamina of a twenty-year-old. Matt is chuckling against his skin and Alejandro just sinks down further into the pillows, tugs at Matt's hips to move him up his body.

“Come up here. Let me take care of that.”

And Matt follows that suggestion with a hungry growl.

 

#  **Five**

—breaths he takes.

In and out.

Pain spreading in waves through his chest with every excruciating intake of air.

In and out.

It feels like someone is very slowly pushing a long, hot knife into his thigh, searing heat radiating through muscle and nerves.

In and out.

He’s lying on his back, half-covered by the debris of a demolished wall, bullets ricocheting around him, spraying him with dirt and bits of plaster.

In and out.

Sweat is dripping into his eyes and he tries to wipe it away, only making it worse by smearing blood all over his face.

In and out.

And Graver is at his side. Matt. Kneeling, almost lying on top of him, trying to duck from the shots fired at them.

“Where?”

His voice is rough but clear, gaze slipping over Alejandro’s body in the dim light.

“Thigh.”

Alejandro touches his right leg, pushes out the words through gritted teeth, swallows.

“And in the vest.”

Matt pulls his glove off with his teeth and tugs hard at the collar of Alejandro’s bulletproof vest, pushes his hand inside. The pressure on his chest makes Alejandro suck in the next breath.

“Didn’t get through.”

Matt’s hands move to his leg. _Feels like it did_ is what Alejandro thinks. But that’s nothing compared to the pain when those hands press at his thigh. He grunts, his own hands curling into fists. Matt pulls at his knee to get a look at the other side, the forced movement already too much, Matt’s fingers searching and finding the exit point make him grit his teeth so hard he thinks he’s going to break them.

“Went straight through.”

Alejandro just groans.

“Okay, let’s get you out of here.”

And yes, he thought he’s maybe imagining things but those shots are getting closer. Matt grabs him by the vest and drags him through the corridor. Alejandro thinks about voicing his protest for a second, then the movement forces all the air out of his lungs, thigh bumping against debris, and he rather voices his agony.

Through the corridor, an open door and behind a corner.

“Where are the others?”

His voice sounds choked, alien.

“They’re coming.”

No room for arguments or further questions. No insecurity about his words. Matt uses his knife to widen the tear in his pant leg, rips it open with bloody hands. He spills water over the wound to get a better look and Alejandro can feel him pressing something soft against it.

“Okay, that’s gonna hurt.”

His only warning and he presses his knee on the wound, leans into it with his whole body. Alejandro stops breathing. White exploding behind his eyes. He’s floating for a second, two, three maybe.

 

When he comes back, he’s grabbing hard at Matt’s arm and vest, feels like he’s going to throw up. The pain isn’t even something he can describe anymore. He groans through it, barely able to breathe, hands clutching at Matt’s arm. Matt’s voice sounds muffled.

“I need you here, Tom. No, I need a tourniquet.”

Matt looks down at him, but his face is blurry and Alejandro feels his skin crawl, cheeks, lips, ears. Something crawling in from the sides, everything getting fuzzy, numb. Feels Matt's hands against his thigh, pulling tight.

“No. Now.”

He can hear his own blood rushing in his ears, his own breath loud, wheezing. The realisation that he has just been shot for the first time blinking up in a far-away corner of his mind. Matt's voice floating down to him.

“Alejandro. Stay with me here, okay? Come on. Alejandro.”

Insistent. A hand against his neck. Heart drumming against his ribs. Something dragging him under. No clear thought. Noise. Darkness.

 

He wakes and there's Matt. Tom, guarding the door, gun trained at the corridor. Matt is kneeling over him, fumbling with something at his leg, a small tube between his teeth. He looks up, sees that he's awake and takes that thing out of his mouth.

“We're going to get you to the car now.”

Alejandro feels intense pressure against his thigh. Nausea washing over him again. Matt's face is controlled, a mask, but he can see the strain underneath. Darkness.

 

He wakes and there's Matt. And the rest of the team. He's being lifted into the back of the van. Everything is muffled around him, slow too. Matt is climbing into the car with him. Alejandro blinks rapidly, trying to make the fog go away. He isn’t feeling anything really except for warm cotton wool around him and a throbbing pain in his leg. Matt looks down at him, says something. Only his lips are moving. Darkness.

 

He wakes and Matt's there, sitting at his side. Every bump the van takes feels like someone stabbing a knife into his thigh and chest again. Matt's asleep, leaning against the back of the last row of seats, head tipped back. Another bump and his eyes open, focus on Alejandro. A smile tugging at his lips. Tense. Darkness.

 

He wakes and Matt's not there. He's in a hospital. White sheets. White ceiling. White room. Awake for a second and he already feels sleep clawing at his body again. Exhaustion. His thigh hurts. Chest hurts. But it's acceptable. Pain killers. More fog. He lifts his hands. Feels like they aren't attached to his arms. There's no blood there. Of course. Soft beeping. He turns his head. Matt is there, sleeping in a chair. Sprawled out. Doesn't look comfortable. But it's warm. Warm in Alejandro's head. Warm in his chest. Eyes closed. He forces them open again. Matt's still there. Warmth. Warm darkness.

 

#  **Six**

—weeks. It’s been six weeks. And Alejandro is horny. For lack of a better word. Because really, there’s no other way to describe it. Six weeks since he has seen Matt the last time and he’s very slowly going up the walls. Matt is overseas. Iraq. More or less all he can say. Enough for Alejandro. They are always on edge, both of them, when they are separated by oceans. The possibility that one of them might not come home a constant companion. But he knows he’s safe now. Matt called him five days ago and told him he’s in Basra and that he will stay there until they bring him home. Makes it easier. A little bit of that worry falling off. Shoulders a little less tense. But the less stressed he’s been, the more he’s felt the need to just wrap himself around this man, to touch and taste and feel him.

And now he’s here, stepped off the plane this afternoon, whisked away immediately by a whole entourage of suits. He made sure Alejandro could get onto the compound, but it took the whole evening until he even saw him. He’s still surrounded by people talking to him, touching him, crowding him. All of that coinciding with the birthday of someone pretty high up in the food chain. Matt looks distinctly out of place in his cargo pants and dusty boots and olive shirt stretched tight over his muscular chest. He’s been working out lately, more than usual. Also, he grew a beard overseas. More than just the stubble Alejandro is used to. He likes it. Doesn’t like the exhaustion he can see in his face, but Matt’s eyes light up when he spots him behind the glass wall.  

Alejandro occupies himself with choosing food from the buffet until Matt manages to sneak away, casually strolls over to him with two drinks, hands him one. Gazes meeting over outstretched hands. Kindling to raging wildfire. Alejandro takes the glass, feels a piece of paper slipping into his palm. Matt’s eyes are dark. Grin tugging at his lips. He keeps his voice low.

“Meet me at the elevator down the corridor. The last one, around the corner.”

Alejandro thinks he can see a bruise at the hinge of his jaw where the beard doesn’t reach it, but Matt is already gone, picking at food at the other end of the table. Just exchanging a couple of words. Nothing else.

Alejandro unfolds the paper, looks at it while he drinks.

_How about you fuck me in that elevator?_

He almost smiles into his glass. Matt. That’s him right there. Always a game. Always a tease. But he feels his blood boil at the thought, rushing down in anticipation. One second of this man and he’s done. That fire set free. He crumples the piece of paper, lets it slip into his pocket, leaves the glass and walks over to the door, conveniently moving past Matt on his way. He stops right next to him, leans forward to reach for the strawberries, unnecessarily so because there’s more than one bowl, but his body brushes against Matt’s arm and he breathes in his ear.

“How about you get down on your knees in that elevator?”

He can hear the deep rumble in Matt’s chest.

“Fuck yeah.”

Just a breath leaving Matt’s lips, but Alejandro has to force down a grin. That was easy. Matt’s gaze slips to him, hot, and Alejandro pops the strawberry into his mouth, sucks at his thumb. Hungry now, those eyes darting down. Alejandro leaves before Matt can do anything stupid.

 

They meet at the elevator. The last one, around the corner. Silent, except for Matt chewing bubblegum. Hands brushing against each other. Alejandro feels like he’s starving. Feels ridiculously excited too. They watch the number on the display go up while the elevator moves up to them. 36. 37. 38.

_Bing._

The door opens. Empty. They pause. Alejandro is the first to speak.

“What about cameras?”

Matt gives him a big grin, takes the chewing gum out of his mouth and moves forward without stepping into the elevator. He points at something inside that Alejandro can’t see, high up above the door, looks at him with a smug grin. Then he reaches up, up on his toes, and solves that problem for them.

“With chewing gum? Really?” Alejandro feels his eyebrows crawl up. “I’m impressed. You never taught me that.”

“Nah, can’t tell you all my secrets.”

That shit-eating grin. Alejandro wants to kiss him.

“So what now? They see us walk in there and come out again?”

Matt nods, very satisfied with himself, and takes a step inside, still facing Alejandro, inviting him in.

“Yep. Just taking the elevator.”

Alejandro follows him.

“With a convenient malfunction while we are inside?”

Matt is still grinning, reaches for him.

“With a convenient malfunction while we are inside.”

The moment the doors close behind them, Alejandro pushes him against the wall. Teeth, lips, tongues. So hungry. Hungry noises. His hands buried in Matt's hair. The beard. New.  Matt gripping at his hips, pulling back. Panting hard. Wild.

“We have 38 floors. If nobody else calls that elevator. Think you can be this quick?”

That grin. That annoyingly perfect grin. And he slides down between the wall and Alejandro's body, works his pants open.

Alejandro's heart is doing somersaults. He presses his palms against the wall. Bracing.

“Well, you better work hard then.”

He's panting already, feels the burn of Matt's beard still against his lips. Matt groans and doesn't waste another second, wrapping his lips around him, pushing down.

The moan tumbling from Alejandro's lips is a shameless thing. Enjoys being heard. Matt's mouth is pure sin, hot and tight and wet, his pace utterly destroying him right from the start. Alejandro has trouble keeping still, holding back from just taking that mouth. He can't stop rolling into the heat though, and Matt's fingers dig hard into his hips, guiding him.

His hands curl into fists, arms and head braced against the wall, and he looks down. Groans at the sight of Matt's lips stretched around him, pushing down, swallowing him whole. Again and again. Relentless pace.

“God. Matt. Fuck.”

Reduced to stumbling words, pressed out as moans. He can't see the elevator display, but it feels like they are going down too fast, orgasm building rapidly, deep down, behind taut muscles. He wants to touch him, his lips, the perfect curve of his cheekbones, rake his nails through that beard. Have him. Fuck. He's missed him.

But Matt doesn't hold back and Alejandro can feel the tension radiate off of him. He’s always like this after a long op, especially one where Alejandro can’t follow him. There's this intensity when he comes back, in the way he speaks, moves, holds himself. Coiled tightly. Rough around the edges. Raw.

Alejandro knows Matt wants this. Needs it. Like this. Grounding him. That desperation hidden behind games and a dirty grin. And Alejandro lets him have it. Wants to give him whatever he needs.

“Matt. God, you're perfect.”

Ragged voice. He feels his thighs tense, tremble. Almost. And they slow down to a stop. The door opens.

_Bing._

Right into a conversation that abruptly comes to a stop.

“Oh my god!”

A female voice. And the last coherent thought his brain can come up with is that they can't see him and that he's basically shielding Matt with his body. Then Matt is sucking hard, taking him all the way, swallowing around him, humming, and Alejandro is moaning, flying high, spilling into his mouth, hips stuttering. He's vaguely aware of the door closing, of them accelerating again. The sensation of Matt sucking gently, thumbs kneading at his thighs, has his head reeling.

He brings one hand down to brush against his face, tucking strands of hair behind his ear. Matt slowly pushes himself up, tugging at Alejandro's pants and tidying him up. They meet for a kiss that has barely lost any of that intensity, both of them panting hard. Matt moans into his mouth, bites at his lips. The same urgency and Alejandro feels the need to take him somewhere else. Now.

Matt looks utterly ruined when he pulls back, but the tension is still there. The darkness. The elevator slows down. Matt grabs Alejandro's hand and presses the heel hard against his own straining cock, presses his whole body close, lips hot against the shell of his ear.

“How about you watch me?”

_Bing._

The door opens and Matt is gone, leaving Alejandro with the task to get a grip on himself while his heart is vibrating in his chest. He turns around, straightens his clothes. At least there's no one there. Matt is already halfway through the hall when Alejandro gets his legs to follow him.

 

#  **Seven**

—is the room number Matt whispers in his ear at the door where he’s been waiting for Alejandro to catch up. Seven. And Matt is kissing him, passionately, a desperation that feels like he’s scared he’ll be gone again before Alejandro shows up at his door. Clutching at him. Alejandro holds him, just for a moment, and he knows they’re standing in the doorway at this weird angle because it’s a dead spot for the cameras. Letting him go feels like ripping his own limbs off.  
  
Alejandro is walking down the road to the small hotel on Person Street. The government would pay for almost anything Matt wants to stay in and he even has a single-storey house up in Fort Bragg, but Matt likes to stay downtown, off the radar.  
  
The streets are empty. It’s way past midnight and all the windows are dark. Alejandro uses the second key Matt has given him to let himself in through the front door. Empty front desk in the dark. The ticking of a lone clock. Down the corridor. Five. Six. Seven. He knocks softly. Waits.  
  
Matt opens the door. It’s dark inside too, except for the dim light of a bedside lamp. Opens the door and steps back. Alejandro moves and it’s like he’s a magnet drawn to that man. Bodies fitting perfectly. Thighs. Hips. Chests. Lips. The door closing. Hands everywhere. Matt is wearing sweatpants and a new shirt. The beard a little shorter but still there. His hair damp at the back of his neck. Alejandro cards his fingers through the strands there, breathes in his scent, lips pressed to his neck. He smells just like Matt. Nothing else. Alejandro hums.  
  
“Want me to shower first?”  
  
Matt makes a noise at the back of his throat, slightly shakes his head, hands gripping at Alejandro’s arms, moving to the hem of his own shirt and pulling it over his head. Damp hair falling into his face and Alejandro looks at his chest where a dark bruise stretches across his lower ribs and basically his whole right side. Black with angry yellow patches towards the edges. Matt hooks a finger under his chin and pulls his head up, lips finding his mouth. Slow. Tongue stroking. Hands finding Alejandro’s too and moving them to the waistband of his pants, moving back up into Alejandro’s hair to deepen the kiss.  
  
Alejandro moans and tugs at the string of Matt’s pants, pushing them down over his hips where his fingertips find nothing but bare skin and hard cock. Matt breaks the kiss to step out of the pile of clothes and he’s bare to the night. Warm breeze wafting in through the open door, the lawn outside hidden behind a thin curtain. Matt nods to the single chair by the window.  
  
“Sit down.”  
  
_How about you watch me?_  
  
Alejandro watches him walk over to a small desk, strong back and firm ass, then looks at the chair. Conveniently positioned by the bed. His heart is thrumming with excitement, the lingering question of how he had gotten hurt a dark undertone. But he’s sitting down, his back to the window, stretches his legs out.  
  
“Want to tell me how that happened?”  
  
He doesn’t need to clarify. And he knows that he’ll get the full story eventually. More or less. But for now he just wants to know _something_. Hear him talk about it. Hear his voice. Matt hums.  
  
“Fell down a roof.”  
  
Alejandro almost laughs. With anyone else, he’d probably believe it’s a blatant lie. A diversion. But Matt wouldn’t do that. He’d do stuff like falling from roofs instead. He sees Matt smirking, pouring drinks into glasses, but can’t see in the dark if it reaches his eyes.  
  
“You want ice?”  
  
Alejandro waits with his answer until he has Matt’s attention.  
  
“What I want is you.”  
  
And there’s a smile that does reach his eyes. Soft. Loving. But a dark glint is there too.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Matt downs one of the drinks, then takes the other one and walks over to him, the soft light from outside shifting over his skin. Alejandro watches him move, can’t stop staring, wants to drink all that instead. He lets his thighs fall open to make room for him and Matt steps inside, withdraws his hand when Alejandro reaches for the glass.  
  
“Mmh, you said you just want me.”  
  
Alejandro smiles, sinks back into the chair, watches Matt down the second drink, watches him swallow, palms sliding up his naked thighs. Amused.  
  
“You want to get drunk tonight?”  
  
Matt leaves the empty glass on the windowsill behind Alejandro’s back, licks his lips, holding his gaze. Dark, dark eyes looking down at him. A hand coming up to brush against Alejandro’s cheek, thumbnail dragging across his lip.  
  
“I want a lot tonight.”  
  
Alejandro feels something curl in his stomach, tightening. Hot and very much alive. He lets his mouth fall open slightly. An invitation. Matt moans softly, staring down at him, thumb slipping inside, grazing over his teeth, tongue, dragging across his lip. His eyes are so dark, Alejandro feels like he’s drowning in them. Matt lets his hand tangle in his hair, rest against the nape of his neck, and pulls him in, taking his own cock in hand. Alejandro wraps his lips around the head, tongue pressing against it, eyes closing. He wants to let Matt dictate the pace, pushing in slowly, fingers curling against the back of his neck, and Alejandro feels a shudder pass through Matt’s body, the tension seeking another outlet.    
  
But he stops, slowly pulling out again. Groan ending in a sob. Alejandro opens his eyes as Matt’s cock slips from his lips, searching for signs, something, anything he wants. But Matt looks like he’s already miles ahead, his fingers restless in Alejandro’s hair.  
  
“What do you want, Matt?”  
  
He wraps his hand around Matt’s hand on his cock and starts stroking him, fist tight but slow. Waits for that drop of precome to appear at the tip and leans forward to taste it with the tip of his tongue, looking up.  
  
“What do you want?”  
  
It’s like Matt is coming back from somewhere very deep down at the sight in front of him. Groan dragged from his throat. Gaze suddenly very soft. He brushes his palm against Alejandro’s cheek and steps back, visibly fighting against a very different urge. But Alejandro can see something else there too. Something he had been looking for. That roughness. The way Matt is bruised not only outside. A raw nerve. His hand slips from Matt’s thigh.  
  
“Remember the first time you wanted to watch me?”  
  
Matt’s voice is rough too as he climbs onto the bed, never breaking eye contact.  
  
“Remember how you told me to touch myself?”  
  
And fuck yeah, he does. Vividly. That display. Smug. Embarrassed. Grinning. Blushing. Losing himself.  
  
“Want me like that again?”  
  
Alejandro grunts, watches Matt wrap his hand around his cock, kneeling on the bed, legs splayed, so close he just needs to lean forward and reach for him.  
  
“Want to watch me stroke myself like this?”  
  
Fist tight around him, thumb slipping over the tip, dragging through the wetness there, and Matt moans, gaze leaving him not even for a second. Alejandro feels his pulse pick up, splays his thighs a little more, pants tight over his aching cock.  
  
“Hmm, like what you see, Alejandro?”  
  
His breath is slowing almost to a stop and he swallows down the answer, wants Matt to go through with this, keep going. Have his own show, if this is what he needs. Although he’s pretty damn sure that this is only part of what he actually needs, the first half, getting rid of some of that tension. He lets him see how much he’s turned on by this display. Watches Matt’s hand stroke along the length of him, slip down to tease against his balls, rolling them with his palm.  
  
“God, I want you here right now. Want your hand here, your mouth. See how much you can take in. Have your fingers push into me.”  
  
Matt’s voice is getting deep, his free hand now wrapping around his cock instead. Alejandro splays his hands against the armrests, moans for him. That beautiful man getting lost to his own words like this. In front of his eyes and just for him.  
  
“Want me do that like last time? Slip my own fingers inside? Want to see me fuck myself on my fingers?”  
  
Fist tightening, picking up speed, but not touching himself down there. Moaning. And Alejandro echoes him. He’s pressing back into the chair just to have any kind of contact, moves his hips slightly, rubbing himself against the dark fabric of his pants, the slightest bit of friction.  
  
“Mmh yeah. Let me see you like that, babe. Fuck Alejandro, I want you.”  
  
Alejandro feels his own clothes pressing against him everywhere, rough, almost strangling him. Matt’s skin is flushed, cheeks, chest. They are both struggling to breathe.  
  
“I want to see you touch yourself.”  
  
Heat crawling across Alejandro’s neck, that echo of a past memory bubbling up, Matt following Alejandro’s words back then. So now he doesn’t wait for another invitation, brushing his palm over his hard cock, straining against his pants.  
  
  
“Slowly. Take your time. Let me see it all.”  
  
And his eyes slip closed as he presses the heel of his hand against his cock, dragging down agonisingly slow, up again, pure torture. Breath ragged. Down. Up. Moaning. Down.  
  
“God. Alejandro.”  
  
Matt’s voice floating over to him, almost a whisper.  
  
“Show me.”  
  
Alejandro opens his eyes, sees Matt watching intently, hand lazily stroking his cock. He opens his pants, wraps his hand around himself, mirroring Matt’s movements. Gazes locked.  
  
“Stroke yourself. Watch me.”  
  
And Matt is straightening up on his knees a little more, hand picking up pace again. Alejandro follows him, keeps that pace.  
  
“I don’t want you to come, Alejandro.”  
  
And fuck, he groans, arousal already spiking up. Watching Matt on that bed. God.  
  
“Don’t stop now. Not yet. Come on.”  
  
And it’s so easy to just let go and let Matt’s words lead him, let his blood rush through him and drag him under, and he has no idea how to stop that, but Matt’s fist is tight around his swollen cock, leaking, has his pulse pounding in his veins.  
  
“Fuck, like that. Show me all of that.”  
  
Matt’s voice is breaking, his control slipping, hips rolling.  
  
“But don’t come. I want that for myself.”  
  
And that rips Alejandro out of that spiral, let’s him find an exit. Focus. Matt’s hand. Fast. Tight. Body taut.  
  
“Want that. Fuck.”  
  
Holding Matt’s feverish gaze. Barely there anymore.  
  
“So close. Alejandro.”  
  
And he needs to take his hand off himself when he sees that moment in Matt’s eyes as his orgasm slams into him. His whole body tensing, mouth open, silent, frozen. Streaks of come spilling onto the bed. Just one more second, holding. Then someone presses play again and Matt’s eyes roll back, close, a moan stumbling from his lips, hand stroking fast, close to the head of his cock. Alejandro moans with him, feels that rush wash through his body, almost there but stopped abruptly. Building, building, then slowly ebbing down, hips rolling in his chair with the sensation. Matt’s body like a sculpture on that bed. On his knees. Suspended. Swaying slightly. Warm light framing him, soft skin, hard muscles, shadows. Like a painting. That bruise a stark contrast.  
  
His own head is still reeling when Matt slumps down a little, hand still around his softening cock. He opens his eyes and there’s exhaustion there, tiredness, but still that edge. Hunger. Bruises. He holds out his hand and Alejandro is there in a heartbeat, standing by the bed, takes his own shirt off while Matt pushes his pants down. Matt kneeling in front of him and he can finally touch him, feel that deep tension still there in his body, tense shoulders, Matt pressing against him, that desperation, whispering against his cheek.  
  
“Fuck me. Hard.”  
  
A ruined moan tumbles from Alejandro’s lips and he lets Matt pull him down onto the bed, kisses him hard, wanting to leave bruises covering those he got when Alejandro wasn’t there. Fingers digging into his skin and Matt is melting under his touch.  
  
He spots the jar of oil on the bedside table and turns Matt around, bites down on his shoulder, drawing a ragged groan from his chest. Pushes, guides him down until he’s lying on his stomach between Alejandro’s knees. He reaches for the jar and dips his fingers inside, coating them generously, the sweet smell filling the air immediately. Brushing slick fingertips down his spine, down, and Matt reaches behind his back, grabs Alejandro’s wrist and shakes his head. Low noise in his throat.  
  
“Just you.”  
  
Alejandro groans, leans his head against his shoulder.  
  
“Matt.”  
  
“Please.”  
  
He sighs against Matt’s warm skin, presses a gentle kiss there. Then leans to the side to gather more oil in his palm, wraps it around his cock, lets it drip all over himself, down on the bed, Matt’s thighs and ass. Biting back a moan. He lets the tip of his cock slip between Matt’s cheeks, everything slick, and pushes inside.  
  
Matt groans, loud, tenses when he breaches him. Alejandro keeps his hand tight around his own cock, places his free hand between Matt’s shoulder blades, fingers splayed, leans forward and puts his whole weight into that, pressing him down hard. One breath. In. Out. And Matt relaxes around him, giving in. Alejandro sinks into him, slowly, still so very tight, Matt’s thighs between his knees. Down into him, all the way. Slow pressure. Not stopping for a break. Tight heat around him so intense he groans against the tension building rapidly in his groin.  
  
Endless moans spilling from Matt’s lips into the sheets, ending on a hitched sob as Alejandro bottoms out, hips and hands pressing him down. Pause. Breathe. Alejandro shifts his weight from Matt’s body, bracing his hands left and right, pants against his neck. Sweaty.  
  
A broken sound, rippling through Matt’s chest, and Alejandro starts to move. Slowly. Small movements. Spreading him. Taking time for himself too. At this rate he won’t last long, but he knows Matt needs more than this. More time to come down. Slow. Slow down.  
  
It doesn’t take long until he feels sweat rolling down his temples, dripping into his eyes, down his neck, gathering at the small of his back. Muscles trembling with tension. Matt isn’t as painfully tight around him anymore, but the way he’s lying between Alejandro’s knees still heightens that sensation. He’s sweating too, but doesn’t move a muscle. Alejandro feels him relax bit by bit, sweet, needy sounds tumbling from his lips.  
  
He works him until Matt is pliant under him and his cock glides in and out with enough ease to give him room to actually move. Then he slips out almost completely and presses back in all the way, harder now, forcing his cock down against the tightness that’s still there. Matt groans, buries his face into the pillow, and Alejandro repeats that pattern, keeps it.

Every time he feels Matt relax and give in to the new rhythm, he changes the pace. Keeps that. Doesn’t give him time to adjust anymore. Until Matt is squirming under him, fingers clawing at the sheets, raw moans, deep, ragged. Body shivering on every intake of breath. Arching. And Alejandro is pushing him down again. Pressing his shoulders down. Claws at his own sanity to keep afloat. Head over water. Focuses on the way Matt’s body reacts to being taken apart with this intensity. He wants to talk to him but feels his concentration rapidly slipping from his grasp whenever he tries to. Matt seems to be beyond words.  
  
His pace is bruising now, the single goal of fucking him until there’s not a nerve in his body that’s able to feel anything else but that burn anymore, to make him lose that tension, uncoil him. Spread him out on that bed and have him open, hold him, until he’s able to let go.  
  
Matt is shifting under him, holds his own arm behind his back, the sudden movement making Alejandro’s hips stutter. But he recognises the gesture, the silent plea. _More._ He grabs Matt’s wrist, pushes his arm up, puts enough pressure on it that he’ll feel a considerable strain. Shoulders coming up to relieve that tension, but Alejandro puts his other hand against Matt’s neck, heel pressing between his shoulders, pushing him into the mattress. He holds him down like this and fucks into him hard.  
  
Whatever restraint he might have had left is now rapidly dissolving with the way Matt is giving in under him, with the sounds he makes, letting go completely, and there it is, that raw thing, spilling from his lips, the tension, bleeding from his muscles that must be burning in his grip, the roughness, melting against the bed like Matt’s body does. Alejandro feels his grip on himself slip again and again, grasping at it, grasping at Matt, using his whole weight to press him down, hold him tight. Just that little bit longer. Matt’s voice is reduced to hoarse moans dragged across a raw throat. That little bit. Just that little bit. Hard and fast and deep. Let go. Fuck. Give in. Give in.

And he’s falling hard, hit by an orgasm that has been built up so slowly, stretched out. Spread out. Crying out. Muffled against Matt’s shoulder, biting down hard. Slamming into him. Spilling into him. A raw sob as Matt’s body is pulled taut, holding, Alejandro’s grip bruising his skin, collapsing onto him, pressing him down, harsh breath against his skin. And Matt’s body slowly, finally, fully relaxing under him, wrist slipping from Alejandro’s grip, holding his arm close, the strain still painful. Breath getting deeper and deeper, losing the raw moans, Alejandro’s heart hammering in his chest where he’s pressed against Matt’s back.  
  
He stays. Just for another moment. Soaks him up. Then he rolls off of him gently. Stays close, wraps his arm and leg around him. Matt’s head is turned to him and he slowly opens his eyes when Alejandro settles down against his body. He’s looking at him, eyes glazed over, and Alejandro knows he’s very far gone now, only a small part of him clinging to the surface, staying with him. That part gives him a small smile, tugging at Matt’s lips, utterly exhausted, blissed out. Alejandro hums, tucks a sweaty strand of hair back behind Matt’s ear, fingertips grazing along what really is a bruise at the hinge of his jaw. Content that he’s littered Matt’s body with more, different bruises that will slowly start to conceal those he got overseas. Cover them. Soak them up. Make them go away. Falling from rooftops. Crashing down from the sky. No wonder he’s all covered in bruises.

 

#  **Eight**

—is Matt’s agonized answer.

“Eight?”

“Yes. Eight.”

Matt rolls around on the couch, writhing dramatically.

“You ate eight donuts?”

“Yes, I fucking ate eight fucking donuts!”

Alejandro watches him from his place by the window, feet perched up on a footstool, trying to read a book.

“Well that’s truly your own fault then.”

Matt groans, rolls around a little more, clutching his stomach.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

Alejandro smiles but hides it behind his glass.

“I love you, but if you eat eight donuts after not eating for 24 hours, don’t expect too much pity.”

“I was fucking hungry!”

Matt’s voice is muffled, face pressed into the back of the couch, his back turned to Alejandro.

“Well, how about something less fat?”

More moans from the couch. Alejandro feels almost enough sympathy to go over to him. Almost.

“You have no idea how hard that is. Eating greens and eggs and chicken all the time, and no fucking sugar.”

The last word ends in another groan and Alejandro thinks he’s suffered enough now. He puts his glass and book aside to walk over to him, curled into a tight ball of misery on their couch. He kneels down next to him, crawling over his body, and buries his face in between Matt’s shoulder and neck, presses a kiss to his skin.

“I bet that’s incredibly hard, working out all the time, sculpting that perfect body.”

His voice is a low tease and he lets his hand slip under Matt’s shirt, stroking across his abs, all the hard muscles there, no fat. That little noise escaping Matt’s lips, somewhere between a soft moan and a sigh. Alejandro settles against his back, wrapped around him, palm rubbing circles on his belly, lips trailing kisses along his neck.

“Mmmh, you’re perfect. Always. But I like this too.”

He feels Matt relax against him, uncoil a little.

“All that strength.”

He lets his hand travel lower, brushing over Matt’s cock hidden under soft fabric.

“Solid...”

Palm pressing against him.

“…and hard.”

Fingers curling around him.

“Just for me.”

Sucking at his neck, his pulse fluttering under his tongue. Matt’s voice is breathless.

“Oh honey, not now please, I’ve got a headache.”

Alejandro chuckles against his skin, feels the answering laughter vibrate through Matt’s body, pressing against his chest. Feels him getting hard under his coaxing fingers. But Matt’s moan does hold an edge of distress, his hand wraps around Alejandro’s and pulls it back up to his belly.

“Mmh, just stay here. That feels perfect. You’ve got healing hands.”

Alejandro opens his eyes, feels Matt pause too. Staying like that, his hand splayed against Matt’s stomach, lips brushing against his skin, both of them just contemplating those words. Both of them very aware of what their hands are capable of. He can feel Matt’s thoughts echo in his own head, no words necessary. Matt’s palm is warm against his hand, holding him, and he settles down a little more, getting comfortable, legs tangling, buries his face against Matt’s neck.

“I’d like more of that other thing later though.”

Matt’s voice is just the right mix between teasing, suffering and aroused. And Alejandro can’t help but laugh at that.

 

#  **Nine**

—minutes after midnight is what the clock shows when he wakes up and his thoughts start with Elena's mouth around him, like he just snapped into existence this very second. His hands wrap into her hair before he's even really awake and he moans softly, her lips and tongue pulling him from sleep and into an entirely different state, limbs still heavy like he’s sinking down, just a shell, and she's reducing him to nothing more than a bundle of nerves deep down in his stomach, tugging at the back of his head. Not much control over anything here and he just lets it happen, feeling the rush coming at him after only a short time. He tugs gently at her hair, wanting to tell her he's close, stroking fingertips down the sides of her face, wanting to tell her, back arching off the bed, wanting…

He wakes. And knows immediately where and when he is and that he's got Matt's hot mouth around his cock. Dream and sensations clashing. Swirling. Pulling. Tearing at him. He struggles to let go of that dream, that feeling. His body wants to sink back down and give himself over to the memory. His hands twitch like they want to move to Matt's head, but he doesn't let them. He doesn't dare to breathe, fears he might scare away one of the two moments. His heart thrumming in his chest as if it just took that feeling of what his wife was doing to him and transported it here. A memory travelling on a warm breath. Like he's a time traveller, moving between two worlds, shifting. No solid state. A ghost. Caught between two timelines. Strings leading to both of them, tugging at him. Nerves. Pathways leading through his body, holding him captive. Immobile.

And at the same time, the thought of doing something very wrong hits him hard and he knows it's stupid in every way and dangerous to go down that road, but he can't stop and draws a deep breath.

And that breaks the spell and Matt opens his eyes, sees him awake and moves up with a grin.

“Had a nice dream there, sweetheart?”

Alejandro claws his way through foggy thoughts and what feels like an afterglow of something buried deep in his memories, clearing, finally clearing. Just Matt. Only Matt. Smell. Feeling. Sound. Matt.

Matt furrows his brow, grin slipping from his lips, obviously reading his emotions right off his face. Alejandro wouldn’t know how to stop himself, feeling open and bare. Heart bleeding. Breath stuttering like his pulse. But Matt misinterprets what he sees and Alejandro doesn’t know if he wants to be grateful for that or not.

“Hmmm.”

Grin creeping back, playfully dangerous and slightly turned on.

“Who did you dream of, huh?”

Matt bends down to suck at the side of his neck, rolls his hips against Alejandro's cock.

“Someone I know?"

He gently bites at Alejandro’s throat. Curiosity, amusement and the promise of _Nobody gets to touch you but me!_

“Come on, tell me.”

Coaxing. And he’s hot everywhere. Hot breath. Hot mouth. Hot skin. Alejandro wants to tell him and hold back at the same time, mind waging a war against itself. _Don’t. Don’t tell him._ But he can’t. He knows he can’t. He hesitates. Struggles. Head still fuzzy with arousal. Blood hot in his veins. Hot. Hot skin on his. Brushing against him. Pressing. Hot, hot breath everywhere. Hers. His. His, his. _His._

“Elena.”

A whisper. A moan. A ghost. Ripping itself from his throat, chest, heart, to ascend and float above them. To vanish. Set free. Matt freezes. And Alejandro almost holds his breath. Seconds. Heartbeats. Matt pulls back to look at him and Alejandro can see how he tries to read his expression in the dark, to figure out what kind of a situation this is. How to handle this.

And Alejandro takes Matt’s hand and moves it down to his own cock, wraps it around himself, grips down tight and starts moving their hands up and down. He grabs Matt's head with his free hand and pulls him into a kiss. He wants him. _Close. Close. God, please._ Feels Matt not resist but pause for a second, contemplating, before he relents and gives back, leans into the kiss, hand following, taking over. Mouth starting to move down. Away. And Alejandro’s hand at his neck tightens.

“No. Stay here. Please.”

Pressed against Matt’s lips. _Closecloseclose._ Heart fluttering. Suspended on a thin thread. He wants a million hands to claw at him, skin, muscles, hair, dig into his back, wrap around arms and legs. _Close._ And Matt presses against him, licks into his mouth, taking it all away, the pain and self-loathing and the ache in his heart, giving him what he wants. Close. _I'm here. Stay here with me. Hold onto me._ And Alejandro sighs into his mouth, sinks back, Matt a firm weight on top of him. Heavy. Solid. Present. Grounding. Anchoring him.

Matt’s hand moving, tight in Alejandro’s grip, in that hunt for release. And liquid fire under his skin, pooling deep. His body tenses, hand gripping down hard around Matt’s and against Matt’s neck. And he moans, sobs, sighs, all in one single sound, hears Matt moan with him, feels him catch all that with his lips, tasting, swallowing it down. Close. Burning. Washing it all away.

Relief. Tension bleeding from his body. Sinking back into the warmth of the sheets that hold his smell and Matt’s. White noise in his head. Clarity. Now.

Matt moves down his body, pressing kisses to his skin, lips trailing. Loving. Tongue careful against sensitive flesh, licking him clean. Slow. Grounding him. _Feel that? I'm here. And it's okay._

And he feels it, hand still loosely tangled in Matt’s hair, fingers curling, bringing his other hand up to touch Matt’s face. There. Present. He gently tries to pull him back up, a soft noise at the back of his throat. Wants to give back. _What about you?_

But Matt stays. Solid. Tongue and lips warm and gentle. And Alejandro feels himself drift away, tries to stay, but drifts, drifts. His mind still now. Calm. Heartbeat slowing down. He’s almost gone when he feels Matt crawl up again, press against his side and curl all around him, keeping him warm. Now.

 

#  **Ten**

—tiny holes in the surface of the table. And what a perfect number. He's counted them so many times now, scraping his fingernail over them, waiting for Matt to come downstairs again. He can hear the shower running. And he's fuming. And he's trying to suppress that anger, but it wells up again every time he gets his mind to focus on something else. It's ridiculous. It really is. And he tries to blame the alcohol but he knows he didn't drink much at all and whatever is raging through his body now is just him and—

He gets up and walks over to the bedroom, starts to open the buttons on his cuffs and rolls the sleeves up just to keep himself from pacing. Heartbeat like a drum against his ribs and fuck, arousal spreading through his body, mingling with the anger. He's standing close to the floor-to-ceiling window, cool air bouncing off his heated skin. Feels as if someone had put something into his drink and he can't control the effects it has on his body now. Darkness outside, grey beach, dark-blue sky, black ocean. He can barely see his own reflection in the glass.

“Alejandro?”

Matt. Standing in the lit doorway. Black shadow in a yellow frame, distorted in the window. He's wearing nothing but a large towel around his hips and Alejandro doesn't turn around.

“Why don't you turn on the lights?”

And he doesn't know. Didn't realise he was standing in the dark until now. But Matt doesn't turn on the lights either. Instead, he walks over to him, pressing against his back, arms coming up around him, eager hands brushing all over his chest and stomach, searching deeper. Matt hums against his shoulder at what he finds, amused smile shaping his voice.

“Mmmh, sorry I kept you waiting. You could have just joined me in the shower.”

A warm hand brushing over his hard cock under soft fabric. Curious fingers fumbling with his belt. And Alejandro grabs his wrist and stops him, pulls him against the window, pressing in close, burying his face against Matt's neck, and basically freezes like this, breathing him in.

Matt hisses softly as his bare skin hits the cool glass. And Alejandro doesn't know what to do. Doesn't know what his body wants, arousal and anger and his brain utterly delighted at how ridiculous it all is.

Matt seems to be oblivious to all of that, slowly grinding against him and stroking his palms over Alejandro’s back and arms.

“Hey.”

He hears and feels the chuckle, rippling through Matt’s chest.

“I thought you’re tired. If you wanted this, you could have just told me.”

Warm lips against his skin. Smell of freshly-showered.

“You know. We could have just gone to the bathroom there.”

Teasing. Grinning.

“Or outside. And then back to dancing.”

Lips searching for his mouth. Fingers tugging at his waistband.

“Could have joined me there. Or just continued watching.”

And hot. Hot in his stomach. Matt in the crowd, loose, body following the rhythm, sweat on his skin. Loud music. Light shifting over him as he moved. Eyes hooded under heavy lids. Arousal spreading through Alejandro’s body at the sight, restless in his chair from where he was watching. Spreading through his body now as he grabs Matt’s wrists and pushes them up over his head against the cool glass, holds them with one hand and moves the other down to push his chin up before Matt can kiss him, baring his throat, sinking his teeth into tender skin with a growl. Drops of waters still clinging there.

Matt moans and that only feeds the heat raging through Alejandro’s body. He keeps his hand firm against Matt’s jaw, stretching his neck, teeth biting, testing the skin, sucking hard where he finds a soft spot. Matt squirms against him, moans shifting to groans, hissing when Alejandro lingers that little bit too long. But he just wants to leave marks all over Matt’s body, has already sucked a pattern of dark patches down his throat and along the side of his neck, moving to his collarbone, keeping his wrists in a tight grip. Matt is flinching away from him and pushing against him at the same time.

“Fuck. Alejandro.”

Hips rocking against him, erection obvious under the towel. Voice stumbling over gasps.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Matt’s body under dim light. Among a sea of bodies. Moving. Delicious. Raw. Sensual. Erotic. As if he’s unaware of what he’s doing there, with everybody watching. As if.

Alejandro moves his hand from where his fingers are digging into Matt’s jaw and pulls at the towel, letting it fall onto the floor. Leaning his head against Matt’s shoulder, he looks down at Matt’s hard cock. Knows Matt wants nothing more than for him to touch him. Instead, he sucks another mark into his skin, below his collarbone, then steps back enough to turn him around, facing outside, places Matt’s hands up to brace him against the window.

He can see Matt’s expression reflected in the glass. Excitement. Can even see the dark bruises on his skin. Presses himself against Matt’s bare ass, grinding against him, Matt pushing back.

“Mh yeah, come on.”

He tries not to lose himself to that friction, concentrates on his anger instead. Matt. Light. Shifting. Moving. People watching. Hungry.

“Come on. Get rid of those pants.”

Hungry eyes on his body and heat in Alejandro’s stomach.

“Fuck, I need you. Stop teasing me.”

Teasing. And a frustrated groan now. Impatient.

“Or you just want me to dance for you again?”

Cocky. And Alejandro grabs his hips, fingers digging into skin to stop him, to stop himself from moving, leans against Matt’s body, head against his shoulder.

“Stop it.”

The words leave his mouth harsher than he wanted, but the frustration is surging deep under his skin.

“You want me? Hm?”

Biting hard at Matt’s shoulder, hand trailing up over his chest, fingertips pressing against the dark marks littering Matt’s skin, up to his mouth, pushing against his lips. He can feel the question lingering there, slightly insecure, but Matt opens his mouth to suck at his fingers.

Alejandro waits for him to get them wet enough.

“Or him?”

A surprised noise as he removes his fingers, and he cringes inwardly at the petulance he can hear in his own voice. A huffed half-laugh from Matt.

“What?”

Hands moving to Matt’s ass, gripping, spreading him. Breaching him, pushing one finger inside, adding a second right away. Matt groans, shifting, trying to accommodate him. Voice getting breathless. Still a little surprised amusement.

“What are you talking about?”

Hungry eyes staring at Matt’s body in the crowd. Hungry eyes staring at him when he walks up to the bar to order something, sweaty, bright eyes. Staring at his throat as he tips his head back and swallows his drink.

And Alejandro waits for him to relax just enough around his fingers before he pushes a third one inside.

“What do you—fuck! Are you jealous?!”

And the smugness among the surprise and tension and arousal makes Alejandro snap, pressing up against him, snarling.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t see him looking.”

Fingers pushing deep with a hard rhythm, drawing groans from Matt’s throat.

“Fuck, I—what’s so bad about looking? You didn’t want to dance with me.”

Nails digging into his hip, pulling him back hard against Alejandro’s fingers.

“So it’s okay for you to eye-fuck him then?”

“Fuck, I didn’t!”

Ending in a gasp when Alejandro pulls his fingers out, works his pants open, fist tight around his leaking cock, stroking, palm spreading the wetness there.

“Oh god, yes you did. You think I’m this stupid? At least don’t insult me like that.”

He doesn’t give him enough time to answer to that, positions himself and pushes inside. Matt groans loudly, struggles to not get crushed against the window by Alejandro’s weight pushing into him.

“Fuck.”

Voice raw. Panting heavily as Alejandro bottoms out.

“Fuck, Alejandro! That wasn’t…wasn’t anything.”

Alejandro growls against his skin, braces one hand against the glass to get more leverage and starts to move, an agonizingly slow drag and push. He watches Matt tense around him, but not enough that he’ll hurt him.

“Didn’t look like it.”

That guy, and fuck, he doesn’t want to see him now, but he’s walking over to Matt, getting close, talking in his ear over the loud music, grinning at him. Ordering him a drink. Churning heat in Alejandro’s stomach. Pushing hard into Matt, drawing another groan from his throat.

“You want me, Matt, huh? Want my cock? Or him? Want him on his knees now?”

And his own voice is just as shot as Matt’s.

“No. Fuck, no, just you. I just want you.”

Words spilling over Matt’s lips, groans in between, breath hitting the glass between his braced forearms, head tipped against the window as Alejandro picks up pace. He feels the burning need to just wash that stranger’s gaze from Matt’s skin entirely. That breath against Matt’s ear. That touch against his arm. His hand tangles in Matt’s damp hair, pulling his head back hard, mouth latching onto his neck and sucking hard, leaving bruises that mirror those on the other side.

“Good. Because he fucking can’t handle you.”

Matt moans and pushes against him hard.

“He’d be nothing against you. Wouldn’t even know what he’s getting into. I swear if he had touched you again, I would have broken his hand right there.”

He’s surprised at his own fury, but the thought of that, that image, makes him growl, push deep into Matt. Matt’s moans drip down his skin like honey, and Alejandro pulls him away from the window, back against him, bare skin against his own almost fully clothed body. Fingers digging into his hips again. Hand shifting from Matt’s hair to his throat, wrapping around him, holding his head bent back against his shoulder. Hips harshly snapping into him while he whispers into Matt’s ear. Breath scorching hot against his skin. Part of him wants to hold the words back, to stop that, but Matt’s skin is flushed a deep red, adding lust to the burning anger, pooling in his groin like hot lead. Wanting to push into him, get as deep as he can. Mark him. Hold him tight.

“Don’t ever do that again. I swear I’ll break the neck of the next guy looking at you like that.”

Matt doesn’t answer to that. He’s trembling against Alejandro’s body, moaning, leaking. Hands clearly wanting to touch himself, but he wraps one over Alejandro’s hand on his hip, the other into Alejandro’s hair, pulling him close as he sucks at already bruised skin between words.

“None of them would ever be that good to you. Giving you this.”

Holding him close, rocking into him. Fingers digging into the sides of Matt’s throat. Feeling his pulse wild under his fingertips. A groan under his palm.

“You want my hand, Matt?”

A shiver passing through the body in his arms. The answer just barely a whisper, leaving his mouth on a moan.

“Fuck yeah. Please.”

And he wraps his hand tight around Matt’s leaking cock and starts stroking, Matt’s hand flailing against Alejandro’s hip at the sensation, groaning, scratching, clawing at his skin, reaching back to grab his ass. Alejandro keeps the pace for another moment, pushing and stroking, before he stops, stills his body. But Matt is so caught up in it, so close to losing it, he just keeps moving, pushing back on Alejandro’s cock and forward into his hand.

“Fuck, look at you.”

Alejandro’s voice is nothing but a breathed moan.

“You’re so good for me, Matt.”

Staring down at that wonder in his arms, rocking himself, held tight by Alejandro’s hand against his throat.

“So beautiful.”

All that perfection. Flushed. Trembling. Moaning. But he’s moaning now too. Feels his legs tremble, muscles tensing in his stomach and thighs. Eyes closing. Hand tightening around Matt’s cock. Against his throat.

“Come for me, Matt.”

The last tumbling words he manages before he feels Matt tense in his arms, pull hard at his hair, spilling over his hand, coming undone against his body with a wrecked moan. Alejandro echoes him with a groan, holds him close and rocks into him, tight heat, just a couple of times before his own orgasm washes over him.

He’s vaguely aware of how tight he presses Matt to his body, wrapping around him, almost lifting them both up on their toes. They both come back with a ragged moan and stumble forward, Alejandro bracing a hand against the window before they crash into the glass, wrapping the other around Matt’s waist to hold him. They lean against the cool surface, panting heavy, letting it soak into their heated skin.

“Fuck.”

Is all Matt manages between harsh breaths. That and a moan when Alejandro’s cock slips from his body.

“Come on. Bed.”

Alejandro tugs at him to get him to move, guides him to the bed where they just collapse in a heap. Naked and dressed. Legs loosely tangling, wrapping around each other with enough space to draw in deep breaths.

“Fuck.”

Again. But Matt’s voice sounds clearer now and he’s shifting, pushing himself up, straddling Alejandro who can barely get himself to lift an arm and brush a strand of hair from Matt’s face. Gentle. Tender strokes of fingertips down his jaw, neck, shoulder and chest, all covered in dark, angry bruises. Places his palm softly against the dark marks on his throat.

Matt’s gaze is full of love, still slightly foggy, but there’s burning curiosity there too. And amusement.

“You aren’t really jealous though, are you?”

And Alejandro feels a deep blush spread across his face and neck. He groans when he sees the surprised excitement on Matt’s face.

“Oh my god! Seriously?”

He wants nothing more than to hide his face in his hands. His brain slowly coming back online with that same delight at the intense jealousy his body was feeling back then, the aftermath of his orgasm illuminating everything, including his own behaviour, in an unforgivingly harsh light. He groans again and Matt’s face breaks into a grin. He bends down and kisses him, smiles against Alejandro’s lips.

“Fuck. If that’s what I get when you get jealous, I’m so going to flirt with every half-decent guy I can find!”

 

#  **Eleven**

—days into their honeymoon and he slowly starts to relax in a way he didn't even know was possible anymore. Like his body suddenly found something again that his mind had lost somewhere, years ago, and now he's struggling to take this gift back, push it back into the gap where it belongs, like an old book, lost and found, that he needs to squeeze in there to make it fit between all the other books again. His mind is overanalysing it and his body just doesn't know what to do with it.  
  
_Here. What's this? Look at it. Found it. What do you think we should do with it?_  
  
_No idea._ Is his answer. _Stop asking me._  
  
He feels it whenever he sits down. At first, it was just creeping up on him, making him feel restless, like his legs are itching, his arms, his brain. _Get up. Walk. Do something._ And it's really not that he can't sit still, that he can't relax, that he can't enjoy silence and peace. Because he can. Alone. And just as easily with Matt.  
  
But now he feels himself sink deeper every time his body and mind are settling down. It's unnerving really. Like not wanting to fall asleep but slowly losing the fight against that numbness pulling him down. Waking with a start. Eyes wide open. Clawing at that feeling, but getting dragged back under anyway.  
  
That's how he feels, his breath getting deep, heart slowing down, then falling into a state of shock at that, beating frantically like he has just been scared to death. _No no no. Up. Up. Get up. Can't die here._  
  
"Alejandro. I love you. But could you please just sit the fuck down."  
  
Matt watches him pacing. All the time. Tries to shift everything around him to make things easier for him. But the more he tries, the more Alejandro feels the need to break free. To run away before everything's too late. And he doesn't even know what he's afraid of.  
  
Or he knows. But that fear is not real, the panic clawing at him just a construct of his mind. He knows he's creating that. And so does Matt. Which is why he now resorts to being very gently angry with Alejandro.  
  
Trying to make things easier for him didn't work, so now he's just pushing him. Expecting him to relent. And that. Is actually working.  
  
_Sit down. Relax. Here, drink that. Eat. Go to sleep. Come here. Stay._  
  
He's hardwiring his brain and part of Alejandro watches from outside, intrigued. Knows the way Matt works. Recognising patterns of what makes him so good at his job. Remembering their first weeks and months together so many years ago. A very young Matt. Cocky. Brash. A mouth even bigger than his ego. A walking disaster regularly saved by his own burning brilliance. Bright and loud. And underneath all that, poetic and gentle.  
  
And that part in Alejandro recognises that what Matt is doing now isn't very different to what he had been doing back then. Trying to keep him alive.  
  
But the rest of him just wants to let go and sink down into Matt's words. Let him take over. Like he had back then when he couldn't see straight anymore, every path as useless as the other. Nothing made sense. Nothing was worth a damn thing. He had wanted to drown and Matt had pulled him up again and again, annoyingly so. And because he wouldn't leave him alone and Alejandro was just perpetually tired, he chose to drown in Matt instead.  
  
Now he knows better. And he needs just a couple of days to understand, before he lets go. Sinks down. Holding his breath. Calm. And then breathing in. Fighting down the urge to panic because he can't actually breathe water. Rationalising it. Turning it around with Matt's help. _Because you have been breathing water all the fucking time and how about you try to breathe air for a change?_  
  
_Yes. Feel that? Forgot how that tastes, huh? Real air._  
  
Eat. Drink. Sleep.  
  
I love you. But could you please just sit the fuck down.  
  
Relax.  
  
And what he had thought he was doing all the time, he now realises has been just the second to last step. Never putting his foot on the final one, putting his full weight on it. Never really. Even with Matt, coaxing him, pushing him, loving him. Never that final step.  
  
And here he's doing that.

Buried deep inside the rough landscape of Scotland. Rugged hills and harsh grass and unyielding weather. Grey and gold and burning red heat against frozen fingertips. Here in that house, a warm bubble of white linen and shelves groaning under too many books. Here were Matt is rooted deeply although he's never lived here. Where his family comes from. And everything makes perfect sense. The ruggedness. The roots. Standing tall in a grey storm. A rock. All that in his veins, but honed by the Californian sun, smoothed around the edges by warm seawater washing over his body again and again. Tanned. Warm. Wrinkles showing when he laughs.

Here, where that final piece of Matt seems to click into place, here he's taking the final step. He sits down. And he relaxes. And he eats and drinks and everything has a new taste. And he feels Matt's gaze on him, over the brim of his glasses, over the book he's reading. J. A. Baker. The Peregrine. And he feels warm and safe and sound. And he sleeps.

And when he wakes and he knows that he has just slept through a whole night without waking once, the first time in 16 years, he reaches for Matt at his side, lying on his stomach, still fast asleep, and he puts his palm on Matt's back where the sheets have been pushed down to his waist, warm, and he doesn't dare to move anything else, barely dares to breathe, just closes his eyes and lets the tears roll down his face in silence. And it's the first time, another first, in 16 years that he feels the way this heals him. Just another thing his body had forgotten.

 

#  **Twelve**

—months. One year. He didn't pay attention. But today he wakes and looks at the clock. 3:42. And he sees the date too. May 16. And he feels his blood run cold. He sits up and there's sweat breaking out all over his skin, cold against his neck. Bile rising up in the back of his throat and he barely makes it to the toilet before he's throwing up everything he's eaten last night.

And it shouldn't be this hard. It shouldn't. What's so wrong about this day when the whole year hasn't been right? What's this one day more when there are so many others to come? There's no more grey in this day, no more pain than in any other day before and after today. And still, it crushes his chest and back under an enormous weight as he sinks against the wall.

Twelve months. But not really a full year. Not yet. 12 hours and 26 minutes he needs to wait until it's exactly one year ago that he's heard her voice on the phone for the last time. He has touched her for the last time, alive, only yesterday, a year ago. And his heart stumbles over the fact that he has missed this date. Because how many others did he already miss?

And he gets up before his mind is falling too deep for him to even leave this room. He doesn’t even shower, just rinses his mouth, puts on some clothes and goes outside. He walks past the hall where small groups of people are already awake, and he’s trying to ignore the way the smell of bacon and eggs almost makes him gag. Past the airfield and out of the compound. Up into the hills.

It’s cold around here, this time of the year. It’ll get warmer through the day, but right now the air is almost biting against his skin, the sun slowly making its way up hidden behind a thick blanket of clouds, its warmth barely getting through. Barely reaching him. White puffs of breath, heat getting lost the moment they leave his lips.

But the cold helps, draws his mind away from darker thoughts. Or that's what he's telling himself as he climbs a steep hill, until it’s washing over him the moment he reaches the top. He bends over, hands on his knees, and just breathes, the onslaught of emotions hitting him hard and with a precision that takes his breath away. He breathes, concentrates on that, but he can’t control it, doesn’t find his footing again, and it wrestles him down to his knees, moaning, fingers clawing at frozen ground. It bends his body, pushes him down, makes him curl around himself. Shivering. Just waiting it out, the familiar drag of nausea and helplessness that always leaves him deeply exhausted, overwhelmed.

He pushes himself up on hands and knees again, dragging cold air into his lungs. Sits back against a tree trunk. Rough against his back, pressing through his shirt. One year. An endless year. And gone just like that. Time playing tricks again. An artificial construct. What difference does it make? This day. Any other day. It doesn’t change a thing.

He wipes at his face, pushes himself up again, uncertain where to go. Caught in an empty space. Stretched too thin already. Everything getting under his skin so easily.

He turns around and walks back to the compound on legs that feel alien. His head feels alien. His whole body. Skin too tight or too loose. And he feels the headache coming up before he reaches the airfield. Seeing all the people already bustling about doesn’t make it any better. So he turns right and instead climbs the steps leading up to a part of the wall that’s accessible and overlooking the landing strips. He’s alone up there, for which he’s grateful, and leans against the railing, watching aircraft being pulled into position with the sun in his back, stronger now.

He feels his presence before he sees him out of the corner of his eye. Matt Graver. He turns his head.

He’s walking up to him from the far end of the wall, two paper cups in his hands. Sweatpants and a hoodie. Military grey. Running shoes. Alejandro has no idea how he found him again. He always seems to do that easily. Maybe he’s just tracking him. Keeping his own armada of spies. Alejandro likes to entertain that thought. But no, he's not. Probably.

He’d also like to know how, regardless of how early he wakes up, Matt is always already awake, being busy with work and talking to people or just outside, running, working out in the gym. Ball of energy. Like live wire. If they hadn’t already shared a room, Alejandro would have thought he just never sleeps.

“Coffee?”

Matt has reached his spot on the wall and offers him one of his cups.

“Tried to get the blackest I could find.”

He grins and Alejandro gives him a lopsided smile, wrapping his hands around the warm cup. Matt puts so much milk and sugar into his coffee, Alejandro isn’t sure it even deserves to be called that.

“Thanks.”

Matt leans against the railing, copying him, watching the airfield. He's silent, sips his coffee. Another thing Alejandro can’t really figure out. Why it's so easy to be silent with him. Why it's so easy to have him around, even through the worst hours. He shouted at him, fought with him, struggled with what Matt sometimes almost forced him to do during these dark times. But he can’t remember one moment where had wanted him to go away.

“So what did they say?”

He knows that there was a meeting last night. He doesn't know anything else. Matt smiles into his coffee.

“That's classified.”

Of course it is. And he didn't expect a different answer. It's a game they are playing. He was quick to adopt Matt's strategy of dealing with the suits and the bureaucracy of the military. By using sarcasm mainly.

“So.” Matt turns to him. “Any plans for today?”

Alejandro clutches his paper cup, still warm, scratches his thumbnail along the pressed seam. He shakes his head.

“Nothing really.”

He takes a sip of his coffee, hot and strong, stares down at a fighter jet being aligned with the marks. Feels Matt's gaze.

“What about drinks tonight?”

Alejandro looks at him. Matt shrugs and pulls out a cigarette.

“I need to go back now, entertain the brass. Will probably take all day. But I'm free tonight and there's a nice bar downtown.”

He's not sure if it's the worst or the best idea Matt has had so far, to offer him drinks on this particular day. Matt has always been very careful with alcohol around him. And with anybody else, Alejandro would have just declined the offer. Except that he doesn't believe for a second that Matt is not fully aware of what day it is. Just like it's no coincidence that he found him here.

He watches Matt light his cigarette and slowly nods.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Matt smiles and takes a drag. He knows he has already won.

“Great. Front gate at six?”

He doesn't wait for an answer, slaps Alejandro on the arm and turns around, yelling over his shoulder.

“I'm in B6 if you need anything.”

Alejandro wants to roll his eyes, but feels a small smile tug at his lips instead. And he can't help but call after him.

“You do know that it doesn't make much sense to smoke after running?”

Matt waves his empty paper cup as his only answer and doesn't look back. Another one of their games.

Alejandro watches him all the way down the stairs and across the compound until he slips into a building and out of sight. He doesn't know how to spend this day, all of its many hours, but he does look forward to tonight and his heart is just that little bit lighter now.

 

#  **Thirteen**

—1972. Big Star. Because he’s discovered lately that music takes his mind off things. And who would have thought? But he had been afraid that it might draw him back into darker thoughts. Down memory lane. But then Matt just threw his MP3 player into his lap and told him to give it back when he’s through all the songs. Which will probably take him forever because there are 689 of them.

This being number 52.

Maybe he’ll just keep it anyway. He likes Matt’s taste. And he feels his mind wander to different places, only connected to his body by a thin thread, listening to this.

Which is why he doesn’t actively notice Matt’s bag in the corner of the room they are sharing.

Or his shoes by the door.

And why he doesn’t hear the shower running in the bathroom.

Because he only realises all that the moment he takes his headphones out and opens the door. And sees Matt standing in the open shower, naked. Obviously. Thanks for nothing, brain. And thanks for not locking the door, Matt. And it’s not like it’s the first time he has seen him naked, not at all, because almost three years and fuck, Matt isn’t really making a big fuss about whether he’s dressed or not but—

He’s also never been very clearly just having his own cock in his hand.

Alejandro freezes at the door and his brain just disintegrates, saying goodbye now because thanks, but I'm obviously not needed here anymore. And he can't. He fucking can’t.

Stop staring. Step back. Close the door. What are you doing? _What are you doing?!_

Watching Matt. That’s what. Watching his very naked body under the spray of water. Steam wafting through the bathroom, hitting Alejandro’s face, hot, hitting his clothes, damp. And yes. Watching. Looking at Matt’s body. Looking. Seeing him clearly, although hidden in a cloud of mist. Because he’s seen him before. But he never _looked_.

Locker rooms. Changing. Quick. Strong muscles. Toned. Laughter.

Showers. Soap. Slick. Hands running all over his body. More naked bodies. More laughter. Loud.

Beach. Short glimpses. In and out. Drops of water clinging to his skin. Sun.

Or that time he had the brilliant idea to ask Matt to give him his shirt.

And fuck, he never looked. He didn’t. No. His brain is making up things, supplying him with images he couldn’t have seen that clearly. A thin white line on tanned skin. An old scar. Shoulders flexing. Bending down to wash his feet. A drop of water running down his hip. Following the line of his thigh. Fuck, he didn’t.

And now he feels like Matt is always almost naked. Mind flooded with memories of naked torsos, bare arms, shoulders, shorts, lots of shorts, bare feet. In the sand. Propped up on chairs. Tables. Naked skin. In the gym. Outside. Lifting shirts. Rolled-up sleeves. Short sleeves. No sleeves. Open buttons. Open shirts. Open fucking pants.

But no. He’s never looked. He’s never.

He’s looking now.

At the water running down broad shoulders, a toned back, curving around a firm ass, down strong thighs and calves. At the arm braced against the tiles, head leaning against it. At the water hitting his neck and soaked hair. At his hand, moving, shielded by his body.

And instead of doing the only sensible thing here, instead of stepping the fuck back and giving him privacy, the rush of _emotions_ seems to drown out his brain yelling at him from the farthest corner in the back of his head to where it has fled, until its screams are only white noise buzzing in his mind. Instead of getting a grip on _anything_ , he leans to the side. Just that bit. Leaning his body against the door frame, bracing himself with one hand. Just don’t move your feet, don’t move, don’t make noise, and how fucking rough is the wooden frame under his fingertips, and just this little bit, leaning just this little bit, and he can actually see Matt’s hand moving up and down his cock. And fuck.

His impressive cock. Impressively big cock. And there is simply no way he didn’t notice _that_ before. But seeing him hard, fist gliding up and down his whole length. A low moan building at the back of Alejandro’s throat and he swallows it down. Stares. Transfixed. Feels his own cock swell and throb, heat washing over him, cheeks and neck and fuck, the last time he has blushed like this he had been a teenager.

And he’s fucking not going to put his own hand on himself now, he’s not.

Breath pressed flat. And Matt, head against his arm and eyes closed, is tensing, his hand moving faster. Water running down his chin. And heat. Heating pooling in Alejandro’s stomach, bundling up into a tight knot, sinking lower. Heart pounding in his chest. And _what the fuck is he doing here?!_

But suddenly Matt’s hand slows down, dragging up and down his swollen cock, slow, caressing, and it looks like he’s barely even touching himself anymore. But his lips part and he lets his head fall back, arching his back. Muscles in his legs and back pulling taut, butt cheeks clenching, mouth open, eyes closed, water spilling over his face and chest and Alejandro bites down hard on his own tongue to keep himself from echoing that soft moan he can hear leaving Matt’s lips as he’s spilling into the steady stream of hot water.

And he stares. Another endless moment. At that image, burnt into his brain. Beauty. Heart beating in his throat, arousal pooling low in his groin. And he takes a shivering breath, blinks, swallows, tongue against lips. And he _wants_. All he wants now. Be there. Be over there. Bite at Matt’s parted lips. Wrap his hand around his softening cock. Press him against the tiles, his own clothes and hair getting soaked. And the intensity of this hits him so hard, he takes a step back, takes a breath and slowly closes the door, leans his back against the opposite wall. Just breathing. Heart beating. Aroused. Overwhelmed.

But he can still hear the water running, and the thought that Matt might finish showering soon urges him to move. Walk. He’s not entirely sure where he even wants to go. And he just makes it to the large desk, covered in reports and notes. Laptops. Empty take-out boxes. Bracing his hands against the edge. He can’t walk outside like that. And there’s no other room except for this one. Two beds. The desk. The bathroom.

The taste of blood in his mouth and a desire thrumming through his body that he hasn’t felt in years.

Desire.

Fuck.

And he tries to get his nerves to calm down. Tries to dissect what has just happened.

Matt is a friend. A very good friend. A partner. His boss. In a sense. Sometimes. Just. A really good friend. And fuck, that was nothing short of wrong. Embarrassing. Cheeks burning with shame and disgust at what he’s done. To watch him like this. Matt, unsuspecting. He feels dirty. And fucking aroused at the same time and—

Fuck. He’s just lonely. And to allow that thought to form hurts more than he expected. But he is. He is lonely. Craves contact. Touch. Warmth. Another body next to his. Lips. And no, he doesn’t want to go _there_. But how could he not when he’s not only aroused by what he’s seen, his own body just trying to find back to what is normal, neglected for a very long time. He rarely touches himself. Rarely needed to, the past years, darkness shrouding and suppressing everything. Mostly just waking up after wet dreams like he’s twelve again. He’s learned to take that as it is. At least he doesn’t have to deal with anything himself then.

He hasn’t had anyone. Since that day.

And how. How could he not go down that road when he’s not just aroused by what he’s seen, by seeing someone in an erotic situation, pushing all the right buttons on his neglected body, but when he’s aroused by seeing _him_ like that? How, when he can’t stop thinking about him, couldn’t stop looking at his body like that. The toned muscles, strong thighs, his back and ass? And when he had never looked at a male body like that? His hand. Face blissed out and utterly captivating. Beautiful. Because fuck yes, Matt is beautiful. And not just like this. And he knows. He knows this is not the first time he’s thinking this. Not even close. Not the first time for any of those thoughts. And he just now realises how tightly suppressed those feelings had been.

And how, when he’s thinking about his friend like this? How, when he can’t stop thinking about him while he takes himself in hand? Because his body won’t fucking settle down, thoughts turning in circles in his head, sending him spinning, and he just opens his pants. And it’s quick and it’s messy because he can’t hear the shower anymore. And how, when he wants to know the taste of Matt’s skin and the smell of his hair? How, when he slows his hand the moment he feels his orgasm approaching? Slow drag. How, when it feels like Matt’s hand like this? How, when his brain supplies the crucial information that Matt’s hand hadn’t stopped moving, hadn’t tightened around his cock during his orgasm, but loosely continued stroking, up and down, close to the head, while he came? How, when he’s doing the same? While his release drags him away.

How. When he’s never been aroused by the sight of anyone or anything else these past years?

How. When he’s only ever seen Elena while he’s touched himself?

How.

How is he supposed to not go down that road? Leaning against the desk, panting hard. Pulse pounding in his veins. He swallows, collects his thoughts, himself. Tidy up. Clean.

And how the fuck? He’s lonely. Fucking lonely. Yes, and Matt is _there_. Always close. Sitting next to him, knees touching. A hand against his arm, back, shoulder. Warm. Warm palm. Arms brushing. Back of the hand. And fuck, he knows how much Matt likes to touch. And how much he enjoys that. Craves that. Wants that. Searches for it. Goes out of his fucking way to get it. Like a drug. Addicted. The next fix. Fix him. And how he’s always known but kept the thoughts in check by telling himself he’s enjoying the closeness of a warm body and someone he trusts. A friend. How he’s known, _knows now_ that it’s not just convenience because Matt is simply there. But it’s Matt that he wants.

And Matt opens the door, and he takes a deep breath, realisation and shock and acceptance and dread hitting him square in the chest. And his fingers tightly grip the edge of the desk and he grits his teeth to keep the tears down.

“Hey. Didn’t hear you come in.”

Alejandro makes a noise in the back of his throat that could mean anything but most likely _Just lock the fucking door next time, would you?!”_

“Damn, I’m starving. You wanna grab something to eat downstairs?”

Matt is moving through the room behind him and Alejandro just wants him to leave. The Fuck. Now.

“Are you okay?”

Alejandro closes his eyes.

“Yeah.”

And fuck, fuck, fuck, turns around to look at Matt, hopes, prays that his face isn’t just an open book.

“Just. Give me a minute. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

And why? Why did he say that? Matt gives him an odd look, and Alejandro feels like he’s being dissected and every thought he’s ever had is written on his skin. But thankfully, Matt nods. And Alejandro can’t stop looking at his damp, tousled hair.

“Okay. Don’t take too long or all the good things are gone again.”

A grin. Warm. And he’s through the door, leaving Alejandro to just slump against the desk, shoulders aching, tension bleeding out. Fuck.

Fuck.

He rakes a hand through his hair, over his face. Tries to look at this new thing that is now part of his reality, to look at it from all sides, the way it has nestled around his heart, warm and content, while he’s trying to breathe through tears he can’t hold back anymore. And he sinks down to his knees, hands still against the edge of the desk like he wants to pray. And maybe he wants. Because he doesn’t know what to do with this. He doesn’t know if he can accept this in his heart. Because it feels like the part where it belongs is black and dead now.

He leans his head against the desk. Breathe. In. And out.

And all he can think about is that the last time he has been thinking those words, it has been Matt holding him.

And maybe that’s just enough. For now. To keep this in his heart. To hold it. Close.

And he gets up on his feet again and he wipes at his face and there’s no fucking way he can walk downstairs like this without taking a shower and there’s no fucking way he can take a shower in this room ever again. Fuck.

All the good things are going to be gone again.

All the good things except for one.

 

#  **Fourteen**

—years. And he can barely believe it.

It's 2017 and that's fourteen years.

Fourteen years since he has lost them. Fourteen years since his life has been ripped apart. Fourteen years since he walked away from everything.

But also fourteen years since he met Matt. Fourteen years since he walked into his house and told him it would be a stupid idea to shoot himself. Fourteen years of working together with him. That's almost as long as he's known Elena. Fourteen years. And eight years since they found each other. Almost as long as he's known Sofia. It feels like a lifetime.

And it feels like he just met him yesterday. Matt's young face still clear in his brain like a painting, clean-shaven, glint in his eyes, grin always ready to take over. Older now, lines etched into his face, some grim, worrying, stressed, but most just waiting for that easy smile, laugh lines making his face glow like the sun. Grey hair at his temples and in his beard, some higher up, and Alejandro loves every single one of them.

Matt is 49 now, joking about being too old next year to keep doing that job, and Alejandro knows he's struggling with the way his body isn’t working like he’s used to anymore. Harder to stay lean. Harder to keep mass. Harder to recover from injuries. He jokes about it. But he's struggling. And Alejandro tries to show him all the ways he's even more beautiful now. Because he is just that. Gorgeous.

Like the way he's lying on his board right now, paddling out into the surf. Just lean muscle under tanned skin. He's too far away for Alejandro to see any details, but he knows the way Matt moves on that board. The strength in his legs and core. The way the sun will catch in his hair and reflect in the drops of water clinging to his skin. Gorgeous. Beautiful. He's beautiful. And he's Alejandro's. For him to touch and taste and hold. And he's never getting tired of that.

And what a miracle. All that. The way they met. The way they stuck together. The way they clashed. The way they found each other. The way Matt saved him. Holding Alejandro's life in his hands, and he knows Matt doesn't like to hear it phrased that way, but it's the only way he can put in words how he feels.

Matt had taken his life in his hands and refused to let go. And he still does and it's burning bright like the sun. When Alejandro looks at him, he sees exactly that. Matt with his hands together, palms up, holding a beating heart. But it's not a real heart, it's not bloody. It's made of light and its pulsing strong. And it's not like Alejandro sees his own heart like that, but it's what it feels like in his chest when he's close to him.

Matt has taken him and saved him and the beauty in that is his selflessness. Because Matt loves so openly, so freely, it's humbling really. And it's pure, that light coming from him. That brightness. He burns with an intensity, Alejandro sometimes worries Matt might get too close to the sun one day and catch fire.

Burns bright against Alejandro's skin. That’s what it feels like to love him. Inside and out. Bright against his skin, and intense below. Because Matt has a way of getting under his skin he has never experienced before. Digging deep and staying, thrumming there, right there, right under his skin, wrapped tight around his heart in the best possible way.

Like flirting with the sun. That's what it's like to love him. Because you can only give yourself over completely or burn trying. And Matt doesn't take half-hearted. For anything.

Loving him is like flying high and falling hard and getting up again and coming home with dark bruises and scraped knees and a wild smile on your face.

It's like going fast on a motorbike without knowing if there's oncoming traffic around that next turn.

Like getting hit hard and dragged under by a wave without knowing if it will let you get up again in time.

It's like dark honey and sweet peaches and apple juice dripping from your chin.

Like earth after rain and warm wood against fingertips.

Like the smell of joy and the sound of the stars.

Loving Matt is like a whirlwind. A thunderstorm. Tropical rain.

Sometimes he wonders if his heart is even strong enough to keep up with the way Matt burns, the way he _lives_ so much, leaving imprints on every second he walks on this earth.

Sometimes he wonders why Matt is even drawn to him. Like the sun to a dark star. Like wildfire to ashes.

Sometimes he feels like he could fling himself into that light and he wouldn't even add to its heat.

Sometimes he sinks back into the darkness Matt pulled him from. But every time he does, Matt appears at his side like he materialised on thought alone, and he tugs at Alejandro, pulls at him, sweeps him away and drowns him in that light and that heat and that urgency and pure will to _live_.

Just like he’s doing right now, emerging from the waves like something wild and untameable, walking over to where Alejandro is sitting in the sand. And the drops of water cling to him just like he’s thought. Sand sticking to his feet. And his expression is hungry as he sinks to his knees, straddling Alejandro, and kisses him with burning desire.

Alejandro wants to protest against his clothes getting wet, but Matt's hot mouth steals all the words away from him.

“Hey.”

He pants when they inevitably need to come up for air again. Matt smiles at him.

“Hey. I missed you.”

Alejandro laughs.

“You've been out there for half an hour!”

And there's that glint in Matt's eyes again. Warm. Bright. Mischievous.

“Yeah. I missed you.”

And he's kissing him again, pushing him back down into the sand. And Alejandro laughs against his mouth.

Because that's what it's like to love Matt.

 

#  **Fifteen**

—layers of cotton wool is what his brain seems to come up through, dragged from sleep, and he wants to protest, noise already building up at the back of his throat, when he wakes to his cock already hard and Matt pressing against his back. Fingertips against his lips, nails scratching through his beard, palm brushing down his throat, chest, stomach, pressing hard, bypassing his cock and slipping between his legs, kneading at the inside of his thigh. Alejandro moans.

His brain still fumbles with the situation and he keeps his eyes closed, wanting to link that world of sleep, muffled and deep, to feeling Matt's skin against his body, pliant and hot. And those delicious fingers slip from between his thighs again and Matt is shifting slightly at his back, but then they are back, slick and warm against his ass, demanding, stroking across his entrance, and Alejandro feels his breath getting deep, ragged, the moment they push inside. He moans again.

His body easily accommodates three of Matt's fingers after he had taken him twice last night before they fell asleep, Matt going for a second round as soon as his body was ready again. Alejandro is still perfectly sore after that because not only does Matt possess a recovery period that most men would envy him for, he can also draw out everything when he puts his mind to it, making Alejandro go up the wall, every nerve in his body singing with hypersensitivity.

He still feels all that, raw and open and stretched, the size of Matt's cock only adding to it. And he knows Matt loves this, loves how easily his fingers slip inside, how he can still feel him slick inside, how his body just held all that overnight, relaxed and exposed. And a sleepy smile is tugging at Alejandro’s lips at that thought, knowing how much Matt is turned on right now by that.

But his fingers are gone again almost as soon as they slipped inside, leaving him slick and prepared, replaced by Matt's cock, the tip pressing against him, breaching him easily. A hand at Alejandro’s hip, holding him, drawing him back as his cock pushes inside, slow, steady, stretching him wide. And Alejandro moans through the sensation, feeling still raw inside, open for him now but god, Matt is so big, every time feels like the first time all over again.

Matt is panting softly against his shoulder and Alejandro knows he's restraining himself, holding back for him. His arms come up, wrapping around Alejandro's body, his chest and stomach, pulling him tight against Matt as he bottoms out. He stays like that for a moment, both of them just listening to each other's heavy breath, and Alejandro relaxes against him and into that feeling of being so full. He feels that state touch something so deep inside him every time, unwinding him in a way nothing else can, making him go slack in Matt's arms, giving himself over completely.

He still has his eyes closed and feels like he’s drifting in a world between when Matt starts to move again, still holding him close, wrapped up, rolling his hips slow and sweet. And Alejandro feels all thoughts he might still have held melt and drip from his brain, hands gripping Matt's arms around his body. And yes, Matt is clearly putting his mind to drawing this out, again. He has this rhythm to his movements when he does, telling Alejandro early. And his nerves tingle at the thought of being exposed to that again, feeling this open and vulnerable, the steady cadence of Matt's hips washing him away so easily, like a feather by a wave rolling in, dragging him out into the open. It's delicious. The sensation of relaxing, falling deeper with every thrust, while being more and more aroused at the same time.

It feels like hours in his head, his cock heavy and leaking freely on the sheets, when Matt starts to slowly push him on his stomach, following him, wrapped tight, until he's lying on top of him, straddling him, that and his weight adding to the feeling of _tight_ and _deep_. He's keeping up the exact same pace and Alejandro's mind is blissed out on the image of Matt's ass clenching in a slow rhythm, rolling, pushing in.

Matt's hand had slipped down around his cock when he turned him over and he's holding him, pinned between the bed and Alejandro's body heavy against it, every move of Matt's hips pushing him into his fist, sliding slick between his fingers, just enough to slowly drive him crazy, but not enough to take him over the edge.

His other hand is coming up to where Alejandro's are gripping the sheets above his head, tangling their fingers, holding tight. And he slows down. Alejandro wants to sob. Matt pulls back slowly, pushing inside equally slow but _deep_. And Alejandro does sob into the bed, body and mind overwhelmed, toes curling in delight, fingers digging into the sheets.

Matt's mouth is hot against his shoulder and he keeps rolling his hips agonisingly slow. Slow, sweet, lazy drag. Pulling at Alejandro’s brain, stripping him slowly, with pleasure, reducing him to soft moans, hot against the sheets. Dripping into the mattress bit by bit, sinking down.

He almost feels himself falling asleep again, drifting away, when Matt changes pace again, keeping up the slow drag and push, but every time he bottoms out, he snaps his hips forward, rocking into him, hard and deep. And now Alejandro's brain just explode, breath hitching and moaning on every stroke. He wants to move, push back, meet him there, but Matt's body is heavy on him, pinning him down, subjecting him to whatever he chooses to give him.

And Alejandro's mind goes wild on this. Being at the mercy of this beautiful man. His beautiful man. Taking him like this.

“Matt.”

He moans into the sheets, the first word, breaking the spell a little, but pulling in a reality that makes the world around them snap back into existence, heightening his senses. Making him feel exposed to everything.

And he suddenly hears the birds outside, early morning songs. Feels the breeze waft in through the open window, ghosting over his sweaty body. Smells something uniquely him and Matt and _sex_. Every inch of Matt's skin against his body. Heavy weight. Matt's cock filling him. His own sliding slick in Matt's fist. And he groans, sent into overdrive.

And Matt's hand leaves his and strokes through his hair down to his neck, settles there, heavy and warm, draws out even that moment, having him wait like that, pulled taut, then presses down the same moment his thumb slips across the tip of his cock, slick, caught between his body and the sheets. Alejandro moans.

And Matt's rhythm explodes. Every trace of sweet and slow gone, hips snapping hard into him, close, deep. Thumb drawing tiny circles around the head of his cock. Hot palm pushing him down, face against the sheets. And sometimes. Sometimes he needs this. Being unwound like this. And Matt is a master at finding that spot for him. Tuning into his body like he can read everything off his skin, and the only person on this earth Alejandro can imagine getting this close to him, this deep.

He moans his way through the firework of feelings. On his skin. All around him. And deep down. Matt working hard above him, chasing his own release, breath ragged, but keeping track of Alejandro at the same time, holding him down, keeping his fist tight around him.

And the way Matt stretches him, fills him, hits deep, fast now, rips everything from him, brain floating away, groaning, falling. That thumb against his cock. And he's coming hard, spilling over Matt's hand. Hands clawing at the sheets above his head. Body taut and riding high on that wave.

And he hears Matt's breath hitch, hears him moan against his skin.

“Oh darling.”

Hips stuttering, tensing, pushing deep and staying there, claiming his own release. Claiming Alejandro.

They are both breathing hard, trying to catch up with the thrum of their bodies. Matt has simply collapsed on top of him and Alejandro doesn't want him anywhere else, still feeling him inside. Matt's fingers splay against his stomach, spreading slick wetness there. His other hand moves up into his hair, fingers digging in, drawing circles, massaging his scalp, and Alejandro feels that tug at his brain deeply, following nerves all the way down his neck and shoulders, down to the small of his back, pulling him back into a state of relaxed drowsiness. Matt humming against his skin. Warm and safe.

 

#  **Sixteen**

—I'm telling you, it's sixteen!”

It's what he hears while standing up and turning around, the last thing he hears really before he sees Wilson, walking backwards and yelling across the room to another member of the team, also turning around and crashing into him with his giant mug – _Just let me finish this!_ – spilling a quarter gallon of coffee over Alejandro, soaking his shirt and pants.

He stares. Wilson stares. Everybody stops talking and stares. The room is dead silent.

Alejandro looks down at his clothes, hands raised at his side, feeling what was once pretty hot coffee cooling rapidly against his skin. The dark tinge of _just black please, nothing else_ staining sand-coloured linen.

“Shit.”

He looks up at Wilson whose face is nothing but big, round eyes and pale skin, mouth open in shock. Cradling his now empty coffee mug.

“Fuck. Shit, Alejandro. I…”

He feels the irritation crawl up his skin and manifest on his face, eyebrows rising up. That did not really just happen.

Wilson starts stuttering.

“I, uh...I...Shit, I'm sorry, Alejandro! I…”

Alejandro takes a very deep breath because he starts pondering the implications of this situation now and he really doesn't want to rip the boy's head off but fuck, seriously?!

Wilson seems to be oblivious to that and is stepping close now, taking the napkin he's had in his hand, and starts trying to wipe at Alejandro’s clothes. Please. Alejandro can see Wilson’s hands shaking and sweat breaking out at the back of his neck and that's literally the only thing keeping him from growling.

“No. Wilson. Look, that's really not…”

He can hear the strain in his own voice and tries to step back but the table is right behind him and Wilson is really determined.

“Look, I… Just let me…”

Wilson is babbling now, nervous, and Alejandro is on the verge of gripping his arm to make him stop, but that’s when Matt steps in to save the boy.

“Hey Wilson, come on, that doesn't work.”

He's taking him by the shoulders and maneuvering him away from Alejandro, keeping his body between them as if he wants to shield him. Alejandro can hear the barely suppressed amusement in Matt’s voice.

“Give the man some space.”

Alejandro looks down at his clothes again. That's it. Shirt and pants both ruined. He can't wear those to the meeting. And there's no way he can have them cleaned in time. Shit. Really.

He still has his hands raised a little, also splattered with coffee, and now he can feel disgustingly cold liquid drip down his neck too. Steve, who is sitting closest to him at the table, hands him a napkin with an expression that is both sympathetic and very delighted at the whole situation. Alejandro wipes at his neck and hands.

The rest of the team tries to hide their grins in coffee mugs and behind hands, but they are clearly amused by the way Wilson is squirming and trying to save things here.

“Look, I'll pay for that, okay?”

He’s peeking over Matt's broad shoulder and truly looks like a little boy this way, blushing and barely twenty years old.

Alejandro gives him a reassuring nod, lips pressed together, trying to refrain from rolling his eyes. He can already see the way the brains of the other guys are trying to outdo themselves with creative ideas to give the poor boy nothing but shit for this. He'll have a hard time the rest of the day. The rest of his life probably.

“Okay boys, twenty minutes and we need to be on our way. I'll meet you outside.”

Everybody stands and Matt is sending Wilson off to follow them with a slap on the shoulder.

“It’s okay. Come on.”

Giving the boy a little shove because he's looking over at Alejandro, clearly not wanting to look at him at all, but with guilt written all over his face. He finally joins the others, leaving Matt and Alejandro alone in the room. They can hear the roars of laughter the moment the team is through the door.

“Well, that's not really what we need right now, huh?”

The amusement in Matt's voice is earning him an annoyed glare. Alejandro just gives up trying to dab at the stains and accepts that he's feeling soaked in cold coffee now and there's nothing he can do about it.

“Yeah, you don't say!”

Matt's lips are twitching, his eyes basically sparkling with joy. And now Alejandro is growling.

“I'm happy you're having fun here.”

Matt starts laughing loudly, roaring really, and Alejandro rolls his eyes, irritated. Maybe he should just rip Matt's head off instead.

“Look, we don't have enough time to go shopping and I don't have any spare clothes with me. So if you want me to come with you...”

The laughter dies down a little, but Matt is still grinning in delight.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. I have a spare set, come on.”

He's walking towards the door, Alejandro right behind him.

“You know, you're actually giving me ideas here. We need to do that shopping thing once.”

Alejandro groans.

“No! God, with your taste? Thanks, I don't think I'm a cargo pants guy.”

 

 

“What the hell is that?!”

He's holding up a pair of khaki-coloured cargo pants Matt has thrown at him.

“Pants.”

Matt is rummaging around in his bag, pulling out two shirts and holding them up for Alejandro. One is white and has Cuba written on it with big, pale blue letters. The other is…

“A muscle shirt?”

“Look, I didn’t exactly plan on having to carry clothes for you as well.”

Alejandro groans.

“Well, I didn’t plan on having your kid spill coffee all over me or I wouldn’t have left my stuff at the hotel.”

“He’s not _my_ kid. And besides, those are perfectly fine clothes.”

Matt looks at the muscle shirt.

“Well. That won’t work.”

He throws it into his bag and the Cuba shirt at Alejandro.

“But the rest is okay.”

Alejandro looks at the offending clothes in his hands.

“Please tell me this is a joke. I’m not going to wear that shirt.”

“Hey. That’s one of my favourite shirts! It’s fucking comfy.”

Alejandro feels his eyebrows crawl up all the way to his hairline at the offended look on Matt’s face.

“Well, then you can wear that.”

And he throws it back at Matt, staring at the pants in his hands. He can’t. He fucking can’t! That’s got to be a joke.

“Well, what are you going to wear then? Just the pants?”

Matt snorts, looking at the coffee stains on Alejandro’s shirt. Alejandro eyes the beige shirt Matt is wearing. Short sleeves, but the rest is at least acceptable.

“Don’t you have any button-downs?”

“No! I’m telling you, that’s all I brought. I’m sorry I don’t have my whole wardrobe here to match your expensive taste.”

And is he really getting angry now? Over that shirt? Alejandro stares at him but doesn’t have much patience left for that right now.

“Well, then give me yours.”

Matt gapes at him.

“What?”

“Your shirt. Give me that.”

Matt’s eyes are getting bigger every second. Alejandro raises his hands in annoyance.

“What? You can wear your comfy shirt and I get something that’s at least a little bit decent.”

“What do you mean, a little bit decent? Are you telling me I don’t wear decent clothes?”

Alejandro groans, frustration rising high.

“Please. Are we really arguing about clothes right now?”

“Fuck yes we are arguing about clothes!”

Matt is getting really loud now, anger written all over his face. Alejandro can’t believe it. He’s struggling to step back and keep his voice down.

“Look. I’m not going to wear that shirt. So you either give me yours or I’ll just stay here and you can do that thing without me.”

Matt scowls at him. And Alejandro knows perfectly well that this is not really an option since he’s the one who has arranged that meeting in the first place. But fuck, just the thought of turning up there in cargo pants makes him cringe. He’s gonna look like an idiot.

Not telling Matt that.

Matt. Who is now basically fuming, jaw working. He stares at Alejandro, then raises his hands in frustrated resignation.

“Fine. Okay. Here.”

And he starts stripping out of his shirt. And that’s when Alejandro realises he actually has to change right here because there’s no other room except for the bathroom and that would be really weird now. To excuse himself and change in there. And it’s not like they haven’t been almost naked, hell fully naked, in the same room before. But usually there are others from Matt’s team in there too. And even then, why is he suddenly making a fuss about this?

He starts taking off his ruined clothes, blaming his nerves for whatever is putting him on edge now. Fucking cargo pants and a short-sleeved shirt. Unbelievable.

But he can’t stop himself from gazing over at Matt. At Matt’s naked torso! Like he hasn’t looked at half-naked male bodies before! Like he hasn’t seen Matt half-naked about two dozen times before. Fuck. Calm down, would you?

He feels increasingly self-conscious, standing there in his underwear, a weird kind of nervousness prickling at the back of his neck. Gaze drawn to Matt’s body like a magnet. Shifting over strong arms and a flat belly. And he’s not. Fucking. Contemplating this right now. He’s not. But the sharp pang of heat in his stomach at that sight is strangely unsettling.

Quickly slipping into Matt’s pants. Matt’s pants! And feeling absolutely out of place like this. Weird fabric, weird weight, everything too wide and too many damned pockets. He feels like he’s sixteen.

At least they fit him because Matt had the pant legs rolled up. Rolled up! He’s folding them down again, trying to smooth the wrinkled fabric.

“Here.”

He comes up again and Matt is offering him his shirt. Alejandro stares at his chest. For a second. Maybe two. Too long.

“Boss?”

Their eyes snap to the door. Where Steve is standing, staring at them, a look of utter surprise on his face. Staring at them, in their pants, Matt holding his shirt up for Alejandro.

“Uh, I…”

“What is it?”

Matt lets his hand drop and turns to him, seemingly not fazed at all. Alejandro wants to sink into the ground.

Steve shakes his head slightly, getting a grip on his expression.

“Uh, we need to go in five if we want to be on time.”

He points his thumb back in the general direction of the team waiting outside.

“Okay.”

They all stare at each other until Matt raises his eyebrows.

“Anything else?”

Steve seems to come up from some kind of trance, eyes going wide.

“Uh, no. Nope.”

Raises his hands and vanishes through the door. Matt rolls his eyes and looks at Alejandro, hands him the shirt. And Alejandro takes it this time and it’s just a brief moment really where his brain is doing funny things because of the way Matt’s gaze slips down over his exposed chest. Really just a second. Because he’s throwing a pack of wet wipes at him next.

“Here.”

Pointing at the dried coffee on Alejandro’s skin and oh. Oh! Yes, that’s why. Alejandro feels wildly unhinged, this whole situation nothing short of ridiculous. He cleans himself, trying to get a grip on things, slips into Matt’s shirt.

And it’s warm.

He wants to groan loudly. Hit the wall. Cry. In that order. Hell, he’s going to give Wilson a hard time himself for all this. He’s glad he had too little sleep last night and too much coffee this morning because that’s truly the only fucking way he can explain his emotions running amok like that.

The fabric of the shirt is quickly soaking up his own body heat, but that feeling of having Matt’s warmth cling to his skin lingers, only aided by the way he feels weirdly exposed with these short sleeves.

“Thanks for not murdering him right there, by the way.”

“Hm?”

Alejandro looks at Matt, now in his Cuba shirt, trying to figure out if he maybe missed the start of that conversation.

“Wilson. Thanks for not killing him? You looked like you clearly wanted to.”

Alejandro nods slowly, forcing his mind back to more rational thoughts.

“Well. Maybe a little bit.”

“Yeah, he’s gonna be terrified of you forever now.”

Alejandro rolls his eyes, fumbles with the collar of Matt’s shirt which actually fits really well.

“Great. It only took me a month to get him to stop calling me Mr. Gillick.”

Matt laughs.

“Well, he’s very impressed by you.”

“Yeah. Because you told him he’s not allowed to know my name. Don’t think I don’t know it was you.”

The expression of pure glee on Matt’s face makes him look ten years younger.

“He did believe it though!”

Proud! Proud about his own prank. Like a little boy. Alejandro feels like his eyes are locked in a permanent state of rolling in irritation. Every time he thinks he’s seen the bottom of Matt’s repertoire of jokes and irony, he discovers another staircase leading even further down into the abyss.

“Of course he believed it. He’s probably going to believe everything you say to him. He’s worshipping the ground under your feet!”

Matt gives him a strange expression at that, sobering up a little, looking him up and down. And that weird tingling nervousness is back.

“See, you’re looking good. Or do you want my pants too?”

And just like that the mischievous grin is back in place and Alejandro _fucking groans_. Again.

“I am wearing your pants already.”

And as soon as the words leave his mouth, he notices something that Matt is voicing the next moment, smirking.

“Yeah. Partner look!”

Because they are fucking wearing almost exactly the same pants. And he’s not, not groaning again this time. Fuck, he’s not! His brain is trying to wrap around how hilarious they will look, but Matt slaps him hard on the shoulder, interrupting his thoughts.

“Come on. Let’s go.”

Fuck.

 

 

The moment they walk out the door, he knows he’s made a major mistake. Everybody stares at them. He’s looking absolutely ridiculous. He and Matt are basically wearing the same pants. But the worst about all this is that everybody, fucking everybody can see him wearing Matt’s shirt. The shirt Matt has been wearing the whole morning. He can see all of it, right there in their faces. Surprise, shock, disbelief, weird gazes, delight, amusement. He wants to bury his face in his hands, feels his ears burning. And he can’t believe that either. He should have just stayed here, stopped all that the moment Wilson spilled coffee over his clothes. Hell, he should have stayed in bed this morning.

He’s going to murder that kid.

Wilson is hiding behind the car. Steve is pressing his lips together in an attempt to hide his grin, and Alejandro glares at him until he looks away. He gets into the car and grabs his shades to at least try and cover part of the furious blush that is burning on his cheeks, then proceeds to scowl at everyone having the audacity to look at him through the window or rearview mirror.

This meeting is going to be a mess.

Hidden behind his sunglasses, he throws a quick glance over at Matt on the other side. And he’s fucking chuckling, looking out the window, grin so wide one could believe he just got the best present in the world served to him on a plate. Alejandro feels something warm drip down into his stomach. He groans. And rolls his eyes. Again. Absolutely certain this won’t be the last time today.

 

#  **Seventeen**

—cookies she still had left. He remembers that clearly because she was five years old and so proud she could count them all. He remembers her hands moving rapidly, like little butterflies, brows furrowed in concentration.

_Fourteen. Fifteen...fifteen...sixteen?_

She looked at him and he smiled and nodded.

_Sixteen. Seventeen!_

Grin as bright as sunshine.

_I've got seventeen cookies, dad!_

And he was still smiling, proud. Delighted at her joy.

_Look, daddy!_

Small hands dancing with excitement.

_Daddy!_

And blood. So much blood.

_Look!_

“Alejandro.”

Too much blood.

“Alejandro.”

And a hand. Bloody. Tugging at his arm. Bloody.

Too much.

He comes back with an intensity that leaves him breathless. Everything snapping into focus again. His skin hot and crawling. And Matt. Bleeding on the floor.

“Alejandro. Look at me.”

Matt's hand pulling at his arm, insistent. Voice pressed flat with pain. Alejandro's gaze comes up from his hands on Matt's stomach, slipping through blood.

Matt is pale, skin sweaty. Breath coming in short gasps he's struggling to control.

“I need you to put pressure on the wound, okay? Stay here with me.”

And it's Matt guiding him, trying to support him, when it should be Alejandro really comforting Matt. And that helps him to clear his head a little, push back some of those thoughts and focus. Words are floating in, parts of his training. Still, it's the first time he's confronted with a wound like that. With a man rapidly bleeding to death on a dirty floor. With Matt bleeding and in pain.

His hands are shaking, but he manages to unwrap a new field dressing and cover the old one with it, pressing down on the hole in Matt's abdomen. Everything is bloody. His hands. Matt's hands. The old dressing soaked, the new one will be too very soon. Matt's skin is slippery with blood where they ripped his shirt open. And fuck, he had to go in there without his vest because it was just supposed to be a nice little talk!

He feels the panic clawing at the back of his neck, exposed to a situation he can't really control, only maintain. Matt called for help himself on the radio when he went down while Alejandro gave him cover fire, taking down the two men around the corner.

They didn't find an exit wound and Matt immediately pressed his hands on his stomach, telling Alejandro to take over for him. There was nothing else now they could do except for waiting for the extraction team. But when his hands slipped through all the blood, Alejandro felt the world move in on him.

He's willing his mind to concentrate on nothing else but the current situation, on Matt gasping, face twitching. He presses down hard on the wound with both hands and Matt grunts, visibly tries to breathe through the pain, but his hand that has been resting against Alejandro's arm claws at him now, fingers digging in.

“Mh. Fuck.”

Alejandro is on his knees next to Matt and leaning forward, pressing the heels of his hands down. Which actually helps to make them stop shaking.

“Too much?”

Matt shakes his head and looks like he'd prefer to not even say a single word right now.

“No. Keep that up. Just…”

He closes his eyes, grits his teeth.

“Whatever happens, just keep that up.”

Alejandro nods when Matt opens his eyes again, and he can see him fucking smile. The barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of Matt's lips, but they are pressed together, lips and teeth, against the pain. Eyebrows twitching, constantly furrowed like he’s trying to find the answer to some complicated question.

“It’s okay.”

More breath than words. And nothing is okay. Alejandro feels like Matt's life is slipping through his fingers and he tries but can't do a damn thing. Tries to keep calm for him but fails at that too, needing Matt to fucking reassure him while his blood is dripping on the floor.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

Matt's hand comes up to cup his cheek, bloody, the fabric of the glove rough against his skin, fingertips warm where the glove doesn't cover them, like hot pressure points. Matt's eyes are focused on him, something intense burning through the haze of pain there.

“It’s okay.”

But he bites back a moan and his eyes slip closed again, hand slipping from Alejandro's cheek down to his shoulder, holding.

Alejandro wants to give him some rest, but also wants him to open his eyes again, to keep him here. He doesn’t remember if it's dangerous to fall asleep now but whenever Matt's eyes close, he feels something dark slip in from all sides.

“Matt.”

His voice is rough, but Matt opens his eyes, needs a long time to focus on him.

“I'm here.”

Really just a whisper leaving Matt's chapped lips. His hand squeezing Alejandro's shoulder, but there's not much strength there.

Alejandro wants to touch something else than the mess of bloody dressings under his palms, feels the need to comfort him. But he can’t and that only increases the helplessness crowding in on him. Matt's chest is barely moving with the shallow, short gasps he takes.

“Fuck.”

Fingers digging hard into his shoulder and Matt's body tenses under his hands, breath hitching. His face a mask of pure agony, eyes pressed closed. Alejandro watches his other hand dig into the dirt by his side and just wants Matt to touch him, to hold onto him.

“Tell me what I can do, Matt. Tell me.”

Despair dripping down his tongue, but Matt shakes his head. There's really nothing. Alejandro's thoughts are skidding on the edge of a cliff, dangerously close to free-falling. Bile is rising up at the back of his throat.

“Okay.”

Matt's body relaxes a little bit, slumping back into the dirt. His face is covered in sweat and so white he looks like his very own ghost now.

“Don't think I can stay awake much longer.”

The words are slurred, but he shakes his head again when Alejandro opens his mouth.

“No. Listen. I can't. Keep pressing down on it, okay? Just that. I can't do that.”

Ragged breaths drawn in between words. Alejandro swallows and nods, wants to say something but nothing seems right. He feels useless, helpless. Matt's gaze slips away from him.

“Good. Just do that. They'll be here soon.”

But it sounds like he's trying to convince himself and Alejandro wants to scream.

Matt's eyes are staying closed longer every time he blinks. Alejandro is watching him. The only thing he hears is his own heavy breath, fighting against the panic rising in his chest.

“Matt?”

His eyes don't open anymore.

“Matt.”

Nothing.

Alejandro resists the urge to let go and shake him, make him come back. He does let go with one hand though, fumbling for a new field dressing and opening that with his teeth. Not the best idea probably but fuck, what does he know. And what is he supposed to do anyway. Anything Matt has ever taught him feels miles away. Nothing makes sense here, right now. Nobody ever told him what to do with _this_. So he clings to Matt's words. Feels like he needs to do a thousand things more. Pressing the next dressing on top of the others and watching Matt bleed to death while he tries to plug that hole with nothing but gauze and the press of his hands.

“Matt?”

He tries again, hoping for anything, a miracle really. But Matt's eyes don't open, his face relaxed now but still so pale. Alejandro holds his breath and tries to keep as still as possible, watching the slow rise and fall of Matt's chest. It's barely there and he's afraid he starts imagining things. Suddenly afraid Matt is really dying. That he's maybe already dead, blood seeping out of a dead body under his fingertips. Because how long does it take, at this rate?

“Matt!”

Nothing.

Nothing.

And he's doubling over, moaning, and the panic is washing over him now, can't hold it down anymore. He feels his hands shake so badly he needs to lean his whole weight into it to keep up the pressure, half lying on top of Matt.

“No. Please no. Please stay. Please.”

Words are tumbling from his lips where they are almost touching his own bloody hands, whispers, repeated like a prayer. Again and again and again.

“Please. Please don't. Please. Please.”

Slipping into Spanish. Eyes closing with the dread crawling over his skin, but at the same time he feels the darkness rushing in.

His eyes snap open again, but it's there now, with him. Dark things pushing back at him, into him, claiming places he's worked hard to keep away from them. Places he's worked hard together with Matt to put a wall up around.

But he suddenly feels like all this strength had come from Matt and Matt only, anchoring him, and now he's slipping away under his hands, pulling Alejandro down with him.

His anchor. And he just now realises he’s really that. His anchor. And he can't lose that. Rather suffocating with him than letting go. Understanding with sudden clarity and horror how Matt is really the only person in his life right now. Not just his only friend, but really the only one in his life. And if that’s gone. If he’s gone.

He moans. Tries to push back against the darkness consuming him. Blood. So much blood everywhere. Bloody hands clawing at bloody grass with the lifeless body of his wife lying next to him. Bloody shards. Bloody tiles. Bloody feet. Darkness. Blood. Death.

His shoulders and back are on fire, tense, pushing down as hard as he can. He can’t feel his hands anymore.

He can’t lose him.

He can’t.

He knows this would be the last time.

Roaring chaos is breaking loose over him and he needs a moment to realise it’s a chopper landing outside the garage, sending a storm of wind and sand through the open gate. Alejandro bends over Matt’s body, trying to shield his face and the wound. The wind subsides a little, but not much, and he can hear yelling over it, coming closer.

“Alejandro!”

A hand at his shoulder and he looks up. It’s Tom. A couple of others fanning out around them, guns at the ready. The chopper waiting outside, rotor blades still turning. He can see Tom quickly assessing the situation as he’s kneeling down, pressing his fingers against Matt’s neck.

“Exit wound?”

Alejandro shakes his head.

“Anything else? What about you?”

Shaking. Again.

“Good. Let’s get you out of here then.”

And there are new hands suddenly, trying to draw him away, pulling at his arms, pushing his hands away.

No.

And he’s exploding. Snarling. Teeth bared. Panic and dread finding their outlet in pure rage. They use that momentum to drag him up and away and the thought that he _can’t let go can’t let go can’t let go_ makes him snap, punching one of them square in the jaw, sending him to the floor. He’s on the other one in the blink of an eye, crashing him into the wall with the single intention of hitting him until he stops trying to get him away from Matt. But Tom is between them just as quickly, pushing at him, hard, slipping into that gap between them.

“Hey. Hey! It’s okay. Alejandro!”

The other guy is glaring at him, looks like he wants to hurl himself at Alejandro, but Tom is shoving him away, hand gripping the collar of Alejandro’s vest and holding him.

Alejandro feels hot still, fury rolling through him, hands trembling, but he twists and looks down at Matt, suddenly afraid because he let go. There are others now, bending over him, wrapping his wound, attaching him to a stretcher, and Alejandro wants to move back to him, but Tom jerks at his vest to get his attention.

“Hey, look at me!”

He does, towering over the medic who’s not as tall but has the frame of a grizzly. Tom is not impressed by any of this, exuding nothing but calm.

“We’ll get you on the chopper now, okay? You can stay with him, but I need you to move now.”

Alejandro nods, feels something fall off of him suddenly, exhaustion and tiredness taking its place. He doesn’t want to leave Matt’s side but lets Tom lead him outside, heads bowed against the wind of the rotor blades kept in standby, lets Tom push him up into the chopper and climb inside behind him, helping the others with Matt on the stretcher.

Alejandro watches them attach everything and get inside too. Sees the two he’s fought with shoot angry glances at him. One of them is wiping off blood trickling down the side of his face. He doesn’t care. He feels numb. Fear still clawing at him. Staring down at Matt next to him, wrapped in a blanket. He looks like he’s just sleeping. If he wasn’t so pale.

“He’s gonna be okay.”

Tom watches him, sitting on the other side of Matt’s motionless body.

Alejandro doesn’t react to that. His heart is beating hard in his chest. Wild. And he’s struggling with what is still bubbling up inside him, trying to control that, wrestle it down. Feeling like he’s failing repeatedly.

He looks outside, watches the world shrink while they rise high up into the sky, roaring like an angry monster.

He’s pressing his leg hard against Matt’s thigh next to him on the stretcher.

 

#  **Eighteen**

—was the age when he started to go grey. 1985. He was studying Criminal Justice at that time and discovered the first white hairs at his temple the day before his first exam. Made jokes about that. What his studies did to him. Eighteen and going grey!

He was 22 and in Law School when he met Elena. The first white showing in his beard that he had just started growing lately. _Because the girls like it, Alejandro!_

Elena wasn’t that impressed with the beard. But she loved the white hair.

Sofia was born when he was 26 and just started to work. At that time, he still thought his hair could actually be an advantage in his job because it would mislead people over his young age.

29 and Sofia was three. He was sitting in front of Elena’s mirror, looking at all the grey. She was standing behind him, carding her fingers through his hair, smiling at him in the mirror.

“You sure you want me to dye that, Alejo?”

He leaned forward, examining his hair closely. He honestly didn’t expect it to spread so fast.

“Hm yeah, I can't walk around like that. At this rate, I'll be completely grey next year.”

She combed his hair back over his ears, white at the temple, grey spreading up higher, and tilted his head back, looking at him upside down, smiling, her long dark hair falling over his shoulders and tickling against his cheeks.

“I like it.”

She kissed his forehead and eyebrow and lips, her fingers slowly dancing down his chest.

 

2010\. He’s shaving his beard. Shaving cream and everything. Matt is forever teasing him about that, but Alejandro likes the feeling. He rarely shaves completely anyway, so he enjoys taking his time when he does.

Matt loves his beard and is a little annoyed, joking about Alejandro being old-fashioned from where he's washing his face at the other sink. Two large sinks. A bathtub in the middle of the room. A giant shower too. Fucking expensive hotel room, but the government is paying.

When he doesn’t react to his teasing, Matt finally walks over and presses his naked body against Alejandro who is already decently dressed of course and almost done with shaving.

“I'm going to hide all the razors and lock you up in this room until there's enough hair on your face again.”

He gently bites his earlobe and Alejandro is about to make a remark when Matt pauses.

“Are you going grey on me?”

“Hm?”

Alejandro stops shaving and looks at him in the mirror. Matt is staring at his temple, brows furrowed.

“That wasn't there yesterday.”

Matt brushes his fingertips through the short hair. Alejandro hums and tilts his head away, trying to shave the rest of his beard, slightly annoyed because they don’t really have time for that now.

“Hey, wait!”

Matt tries to grab his head.

“Let me see that!”

He laughs, utterly delighted, combs his fingers through Alejandro's hair.

“And I thought you're maybe a vampire or something, that full head of hair and no white up there while I'm slowly going grey here and...”

He trails off, looks at all the grey at the roots of Alejandro's hair he’s now discovering while he’s brushing his fingers through them.

“What...?”

Alejandro has stopped resisting, stopped trying to shave too. Okay. If he wants to do that now.

“Are you dyeing your hair?!”

Alejandro starts to rinse the razor. And he’s _not_ trying to evade Matt’s gaze in the mirror, but a tiny, bittersweet twinge of nervousness is there in his stomach.

“Yes.”

Matt stares at him. Alejandro can almost feel the shock against his skin. He rolls his eyes.

“I didn't think it's something so special.”

“Well no, but...how? When are you even doing this?”

Matt leans back a little, trying to get Alejandro to look him in the eyes.

“Did you hide this from me?”

Alejandro sighs, shakes his head. He doesn’t want to make Matt believe that, so there’s no way around it now.

“Matt...”

“Are you embarrassed about this? Wait, are you completely grey?”

He’s slipping between Alejandro and the sink now, taking his head in his hands and brushing through his hair on both sides.

“Matt.”

“Wow, you should keep this. They'll be even more terrified of you. When did you start to go grey?”

Alejandro catches his gaze. The delight on Matt’s face is making his heart ache. He swallows.

“After them.”

The grin slips from Matt's face and Alejandro tries to catch it, giving him a small smile. But he only gets his lips to twitch slightly.

“Well. No, it started earlier. When I was in school. Just spreading at the temples. A lot more later though and Elena...she would dye them for me, for a couple of years. I didn't even notice everything was grey until the colour started to grow out and I really looked at it. Thought I might just leave it that way.”

He looks at himself in the mirror above Matt's shoulder.

“Couldn't stand it.”

He takes a deep breath, raises his razor again and looks at Matt who still holds his head in his hands.

“Can I finish this now?”

Matt looks at him. For a long moment. He doesn’t say a word, but his face is showing everything. And this time, Alejandro manages to give him a smile. Sad, but also _It’s okay_. Matt nods slowly and steps aside. He’s watching him while he finishes shaving.

When Alejandro is done and comes up again, towelling off his face, Matt steps close again, bare skin against soft fabric, and runs his hand through the hair at the side of Alejandro’s head, revealing all the grey. He presses a kiss against his temple where the white hair is clearly visible.

“Want me to dye that for you?”

 

 

#  **Nineteen**

—is the page number because he just sat down about half an hour ago with his book, sipping his coffee, looking up from time to time, not really focused on the words anyway, but he likes the silence. The last days were hectic and he enjoys being alone right now.

“Alejandro?”

If it had been somebody else than Matt, he'd have probably growled. So now he just rolls his eyes and looks up from his book.

Matt is a mess.

Faded jeans, ripped and so thin in some places he's not sure how they even hold together anymore. A shirt so washed out he can only see there’s _something_ printed on the front. Boots that look like they have seen things. He’s leaning against the handrail of the porch, covered in grease. Looks like he just took apart a car. Black oil stains on his clothes, hands and bare arms. There’s a smudge on his cheek. Wild hair. And a wild grin on his face too. Which is never a good sign.

“Hey, I thought you could help me with something.”

The way Matt looks. The way Matt _is_. A whole list of possible things rattles through Alejandro’s brain, one more dangerous than the other. He cocks an eyebrow.

“What is it?”

Mistake. That grin just got bigger.

“Okay, so I've got this old bike that I'm trying to fix.”

Matt points his thumb behind him.

“Had a little accident a couple of years back and never found the time to get it up and running again.”

Alejandro looks at Matt’s stained clothes, already sure where this is going.

“So you decided to just empty half the oil pan over yourself?”

Matt's face lights up. Damn.

“See. That's exactly why I need your help!”

Alejandro groans. Matt is like quicksand. The more you're trying to get out of it, the deeper you'll sink down.

“Can't you ask somebody else? I really just wanted to sit here and read right now.”

The grin on Matt's face dies down a little.

“Half the team is gone and I thought, you know, because you told me you've been working on bikes when you were younger.”

“God, but that's been ages ago! I don’t even know if I could really help you.”

Matt knocks lightly against the wood, chewing at the inside of his cheek. He looks like a boy who has just been told there won’t be any presents on his birthday.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. You know what, just…continue with your book. I’m not even sure I can fix that bike anyway. Maybe better if I don’t.”

Alejandro watches him turn around and walk away.

Well, fuck.

He sighs. Deeply.

“Matt.”

He puts his book aside, gulps down half his coffee, which is still too hot, and stands to walk down to Matt who is waiting for him with raised eyebrows.

“Okay. Show me your bike.”

The grin is back and it’s like a firework exploding on Matt’s face. Pure joy, no reins and very, very enticing.

Goddamnit.

 

“Wow, I haven’t seen that one in years.”

If that smile gets any broader, Alejandro is afraid it might tear Matt’s face in halves.

“Yeah. She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

Matt’s hand brushes across the saddle and he’s looking down at his bike like a man deeply in love. Alejandro grins at him.

“She? Did you name her too?”

Matt crouches down, folding his arms on the saddle and looking up at Alejandro with a smirk.

“I did. But I don’t know you long enough to introduce you to her yet.”

Alejandro can’t help but laugh.

 

Matt had already removed the tank and has started to take apart the engine, meticulously laying out all the parts on an old towel. Alejandro has his sleeves rolled up and they are both crouching over the bike.

“So, how exactly did that happen?”

Alejandro asks, trying to get the jammed piston free enough to pull it out.

“Hm?”

“Your little accident. What did you do?”

He tugs hard and finally pulls the piston free. A piece of mangled metal. He holds it up for Matt.

“I mean you basically melted that. How did you do that?”

Matt shrugs, fumbling with the towel he uses to clean the parts.

“Maybe I went a little bit too fast. Got a little too hot.”

Alejandro snorts, looks at Matt over the destroyed piston.

“Yeah, you went a little bit too fast for about ten miles after you heard it die a very painful death?”

Matt grimaces, bordering on a smirk.

“I told you it’s been a couple of years.”

“So that little accident was you going over the handlebar at full speed?”

And now Matt does smirk, tugging at the collar of his shirt to reveal the thin white line across his collarbone that Alejandro has already noticed.

“That piston wasn’t the only thing getting destroyed that day.”

Alejandro is a little worried about his own lack of surprise at how excited Matt sounds. He just raises his eyebrows and drops the wrecked piece of metal on the ground.

“Just do me a favour and get off that thing next time you hear weird noises?”

Matt laughs.

 

They clean and check the engine, twice, to make sure nothing else was damaged. Check the rest of the bike too because it really hasn’t been used in a very long time. Couple of years. Sure.

They are both covered in grease now and Alejandro regrets his brilliant idea to take apart and clean a whole motorbike without changing his clothes.

What he still doesn’t get is why Matt asked him in the first place. There’s literally nothing here he couldn’t have done alone. And although Alejandro’s hands seem to remember what they learned during his first job, he knows that Matt has been working on bikes basically all his life. He could probably take that thing apart with closed eyes and one hand tied to his back.

He just can’t figure it out.

“Why did you keep it?”

“What do you mean?”

Matt has both his hands wedged between the two cylinder blocks, utterly focused on what he’s doing, and Alejandro is pretty sure Matt knows exactly what he’s talking about.

“The bike. Why did you keep it?”

“I wanted to fix it.”

Alejandro watches him tighten the screws. Matt still doesn’t look at him.

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I told you, I just never really found the time.”

Alejandro stands up and leans over the bike, arms propped up on the saddle, looking down at Matt.

“Then why did you keep it?”

Matt pauses, keeps looking at his own hands, then finally up at Alejandro. There’s something in his expression Alejandro can’t really figure out.

“Matt, that bike is at least twenty years old. And you know I’d know. So why? You didn’t find the time to fix it, but you cleaned and maintained it for all those years?”

Matt holds his gaze, then sighs. He drops the tools on the ground and wipes at his hands while he straightens up.

“This is my dad’s bike.”

Alejandro feels his eyebrows crawl up. That doesn’t make any sense.

“I thought you don’t talk to your dad?”

Matt’s expression mirrors his own.

“What? Jeff? He’s not my dad.”

That only adds to Alejandro’s confusion, but Matt starts collecting all the tools they used and throws them back into the toolbox.

“My dad died when I was sixteen.”

He pauses, a wrench in his hand, looks at the bike, then at Alejandro.

“I went to his house that day and just took the bike.”

He shrugs his shoulders.

“Nobody missed it.”

Alejandro feels quite a lot of things he thought he knew about Matt slip into place. Like a part of the puzzle, no, a part of the mosaic coming together that all of a sudden shows an important piece of the whole picture. And that piece is settling warm in his stomach.

He doesn’t feel the need to say anything, doesn’t feel like his words are even needed here right now.

Matt gives him a gentle smile.

“So how about a test ride?”

Alejandro smiles too.

“Only if you tell me her name.”

And there’s that grin again. No reins.

 

#  **Twenty**

—broken bones. That’s his guess. Maybe a couple more, but he tried to be precise. As precise as you can be with a claw hammer.

The man is writhing against the constraints holding his forearms pressed against the tabletop and his ankles tied to the table legs. But the table is attached to the floor and the chair is heavy.

The man has a name but that doesn’t matter right now.

There’s blood dripping down the table, pooling on the floor and trickling into the drain between the man’s feet. But most of that is from the man’s nose which Alejandro had broken when he had smashed the man’s face into the table. Those things always make a huge mess. Which is why he prefers different methods. But struggling to breathe through a broken nose and split lips with your own blood almost suffocating you seems to be something not many people can endure.

The man is a little stronger than that.

He had snarled at Alejandro with red teeth, two missing now, and tried to spit blood at him. Alejandro had broken his first finger after that.

The man is only a small fish, but a fish with a reputation. He has murdered so many that nobody knows the exact number. He probably doesn’t know himself.

The man has been accused and convicted numerous times, but never for the worst. Never for everything he’s done. Slippery fish.

The man has been accused and convicted again today, but his court tonight is a different one.

The air in the room is hot. Sticky. The smell of dried and fresh blood. Urine. Sweat. The smell of defiance and fear.

Alejandro’s bare arms are covered in fine splatters of blood where his sleeves are rolled up. His hands are slippery. There’s more blood on his clothes but they are black and appear even darker in the dim light.

It’s exhausting, this kind of work, but it lets his mind focus in a unique way. There’s nothing outside this room to him anymore. The man is his centre. He’s a shell, holding knowledge that Alejandro needs. And he needs to pry him open to get to that pulsing core.

Most people break easily. The man needs a little longer.

But he’s already flinching away from Alejandro without noticing. Thinks he’s still strong. But there’s a crack running from his broken nose and bleeding mouth down to his broken fingers now, and he just doesn’t know how deep it runs.

The man has already spilt most of his secrets, but Alejandro knows there’s at least one more. And he needs that one too.

Small fish leading to big fish.

They are easier to catch but you need to know where to look.

The man knows where to look.

He just needs to talk.

There are three fingers left on his right hand, two on his left hand. Alejandro likes to let some time pass between them. Focus on a different part of the body. A different kind of pain. Humans are not good at enduring pain, but the mind is incredibly quick to adapt and the body has various mechanism to just shut everything off.

He can’t use that.

So he needs to keep the man conscious. Aware. He needs him to feel.

The hammer comes down and the scream is louder than the sound of snapping bones. Two left on both hands now. The man is wailing, angry, furious, jerking at his constraints. The metal legs of the heavy chair scraping across the floor just the slightest bit.

A question. And no answer.

The hammer comes down again.

That startles the man. He needs a second until the pain filters through, spreads through his body, hot and white. The man didn’t expect that. So soon after the first.

The man is bending over, trying to shield his broken fingers with his head. Alejandro grabs a fistful of his hair and pulls hard, bending him backwards over the back of the chair.

A question.

The man is cursing him. A fine spray of blood exploding from his swollen lips.

The hammer comes down again.

He holds the man back. Bends him over the backrest against his body’s immediate reaction to try and curl around where it hurts.

Two fingers left. One on every hand.

He hopes he doesn’t need to use all of them. There’s enough he can use afterwards, but it’s always messy.

The man is gagging on his own blood that’s gathering at the back of his throat.

A question.

And blood spit into his face.

The hammer comes down again and Alejandro lets go of the hair.

The man slumps down against the table. He’s moaning, breath ragged. Trying to cradle his broken hands against his face, but he can’t get close enough.

Alejandro wipes at the blood on his cheek.

And then there are words.

Tumbling from the man’s lips. So many. He’s telling him everything. Everything Alejandro needs. Everything he doesn’t.

It’s always like that, for the strong ones. They can’t bear the thought of having their last finger destroyed too. As if they believe they can save themselves if only they can keep him from taking that last finger too.

The man is sobbing now, with trembling hands. Hands that tortured and raped. Hands that killed. Countless. Innocent. Leaving their violated, broken bodies lying naked wherever he let go of them.

Alejandro moves to stand almost next to the man, just the corner of the table between them. The metal surface is covered in blood. Alejandro’s chest is heaving from the exertion. He looks down at the man.

Says his name.

The man looks up at him. Hate and rage almost completely drowned out by agony and horror. And that little, little bit of hope. Humans. Always.

Alejandro’s gaze shifts up, over the man’s head, to where Matt is leaning against the wall in the dark, arms folded across his chest.

Matt nods. Once.

Alejandro looks at the man and lifts his hammer.

 

#  **Twenty-One**

—degrees. He’s sure the temperature in the room just rose by 21 degrees because there’s heat against his skin that hasn’t been there before.

Because he feels like he can’t breathe right all of a sudden.

Because he just can’t stop staring. At Matt. Reading a book.

He’s lounging on the couch, clad in dark sweatpants and a thin white shirt that looks like the softest thing in existence. Bare feet propped up on the coffee table, and Alejandro isn’t even bothered by that right now because Matt is wearing his reading glasses and that makes him forget absolutely everything.

He’s staring at him from his place in the armchair and there’s a fuzzy little thing in his stomach that has been purring and sprawling lazily until now but just decided to melt into a puddle of warm, sticky honey tugging at his heart from below.

He only realises he’s made a sound when Matt looks up at him, over the rim of his glasses, looks at him for endless seconds, defying all laws of time, and then smiles. And that puddle just explodes into a storm of tiny butterflies in Alejandro’s belly.

God, he loves that man.

Butterflies all the way up to his heart, tickling and prickling, myriads of tiny wings, all the colours of the rainbow and some nobody has ever seen before, vibrating like hummingbirds, or bumblebees, fizzing along every nerve in his body, tingling in his fingertips and the soles of his feet.

His brain is telling him that there’s way too much space between him and Matt, the coffee table like a rift in space, and he needs to get over there _now_.

Matt is watching him get up and walk around the table with an amused and slightly curious expression that ends in a surprised squeal as Alejandro takes his book and crawls into his lap. He leaves the book on the table and takes off Matt’s glasses, revealing some incredibly warm eyes that look golden brown in the dim light of the room but get a tinge of green when he’s outside. Like a dark forest, heavy with the smell of dew on wood and moss and earth, when the sun suddenly breaks through the dense canopy of leaves high up, specks of light on the forest floor and warmth against your skin. And fuck, but this man makes his heart all poetic and gentle.

Those eyes are watching him. The glasses join the book on the table, and Alejandro takes his mouth in a slow, lazy kiss. He feels Matt’s hands come up against his back, arms wrapping around him, and he just sinks down against him and groans in frustration because his heart can’t possibly hold all that emotion he’s feeling right now. He feels like a black hole, absorbing everything around him, warmth and smell and soft noises, and it’s not enough, not enough to satisfy his heart that just wants to be filled to the brim, and he’s _hungry_ , for more and everything, feels greedy in a very lazy way. He just wants to lie here, sink into this man, get absorbed by his bright soul and feed his heart until it’s spilling over, flooding the floor.

He rakes his hands through Matt’s short hair that holds mostly grey now, white streaks at his temples and hairline, and looks at him. Feels like his face shows more than the universe could ever hold.

“I need you to make love to me.”

His voice is raw and he feels Matt take a deep breath, eyes skipping down to Alejandro’s mouth and back up.

Matt claims his mouth in a hungry kiss, presses his hand against the back of Alejandro’s head, holding him, slowly pushing him back, down, down into the cushion, until he’s on top, and Alejandro wants to have a hundred hands more to touch him everywhere.

Small hungry noises are slipping from both their lips while their hands are gently tugging at clothes, slipping under soft fabric, brushing over warm skin and strong muscles. Alejandro strokes his palms up the sides of Matt’s torso, thumbs slipping over hard nipples, flicking over them, rolling them gently between thumb and finger. Matt’s moan washes hot over his skin, making him buck up hard. Matt presses against him and Alejandro slides his hands down his back, gripping his ass and pushing him down. They grind against each other like their bodies want to melt, sweet, hot friction of clothes and _more now_ and tongues stroking deep and lips bruising and scraping against stubble.

And Matt buries his hands in Alejandro’s hair and tugs at them gently, breaking the kiss and moving his mouth down Alejandro’s exposed throat, hot and hungry and slow, and he can’t help but moan with the deep desire burning in his groin, press up against him as Matt’s mouth travels down, hot breath against the fabric of his shirt, then skin again, as Matt opens and tugs at his pants, encouraging Alejandro to tilt his hips up, then pulling them down his hips and legs, lips and tongue and teeth moving down to the crease of his thigh, and up, up again, leaving Alejandro aching and panting.

But his shirt is pushed up, making room for Matt’s mouth to wander up his stomach and chest. And they need to get up a little to get rid of the annoying fabric completely, but he uses that moment to pull Matt’s own shirt over his head and make him slip out of his pants, no underwear.

He can’t stop the hungry noises spilling from his lips at the sight of Matt’s hard cock and he wraps his hand around him, stroking him, pulling him into a kiss again.

Matt pushes him down, lays him out on the couch, and Alejandro feels him reach for the side table, excitement tingling down his nerves, eager for this, him.

He’s panting hard when Matt breaks the kiss to look down at his own hands, dripping oil into his palm, wrapping it around himself, and Alejandro moans at that sight.

He feels like he can’t even wait another second and he just takes Matt’s hand and guides him down. Matt’s gaze finds his and it’s warm and gentle and hungry and so full of love Alejandro feels his chest tighten. He pushes down against Matt’s fingers massaging his skin, wrapping his own hands around Matt’s head to pull him close, tell him _more_ , and Matt slips a finger inside.

But Alejandro is impatient, just wants him, encourages him, working himself open on Matt’s fingers. Matt grunts against his lips, keeping up with the way Alejandro’s body is rocking and rolling, trying to get more. Now. More now.

And Alejandro feels Matt’s restraint slip too, fingers replaced by the head of his cock, breaching and stretching him wide. And that burn just ruins him. Keeping Matt’s head in his grasp, lips pressed tight, wrapping his legs around Matt’s hips and pulling him in. And Matt groans into his mouth.

Alejandro can’t stop, wants all of him, greedy, the sensation of Matt’s cock filling him making his heart race and his skin tingle. They break the kiss for air but stay close, panting into each other’s mouth. Matt has his eyes closed, a small frown between his brows, and Alejandro brushes his thumbs across his cheeks, making him open his eyes again as he sinks down completely into Alejandro.

They just stare.

Alejandro wants to drown.

He feels anchored, held. _Here_. Smooths his thumbs over the lines on Matt’s face, next to his eyes, down his cheeks, across grey-white stubble and soft lips, up again to cup his cheeks in his hands. Matt’s eyes slip closed, but just for a moment, and when they open again, he can see unshed tears and pure, bright affection.

And Matt starts to move, slowly, and Alejandro sinks back completely, brushing his hands down Matt’s chest, wrapping around his waist and just holding him. Slow. Slow. Long, deep strokes, and they don’t break eye contact even for a second. Just very slowly pushing their bodies higher and higher.

Time gets lost in deep breaths and rolling hips and warm gazes holding each other.

Just the smell of Matt’s skin, fingertips stroking across ribs and scars on collar bones, pressing against the short, dark line on his belly, mark of a darker year.

Alejandro wants to drink from his lips. The sweet drag and push deep inside him like a song playing his body. Wants to moan when Matt stops. Fingers tugging at Matt’s shoulders. Again. More. Matt smiles at him, warm. Sweaty. And he leans back a little, his cock almost slipping from Alejandro’s body, uncaps the small bottle again and tilts it slightly, lets just a little bit of oil trickle down on Alejandro’s cock, drip down his balls and on his own cock.

Alejandro watches and feels the warmth spread across his skin where the oil is coating him. Then Matt’s hand wraps around him, spreading more warmth, gently working the oil into his skin, stroking along his cock and balls down to wrap around his own length for a moment before he pushes inside again, gliding easily, the scent overwhelming to Alejandro’s senses.

Matt doesn’t change the pace, but he starts stroking Alejandro’s cock in that same rhythm, and the heat of his palm makes the oil almost burn on his skin. But sweet. Sweet burn and heat and slow friction. Hand wrapped tight around his cock. Matt pushing deep into him.

He feels everything building up slowly but with an intensity that makes him struggle to keep up with it. His skin hypersensitive to every touch. Everything is bright and clear around him and he can feel Matt’s heart beating strong against his palm.

When he feels his thighs starting to tremble, he pulls Matt close again with a hand in his hair, leaving the other pressed against his chest. And Matt leans their heads together, not even now changing his rhythm, pushing inside, stroking him, slow. But Alejandro can feel Matt’s body tensing and relaxing, getting close. Short breaths now. Mingling.

And they stay like that, holding each other. And Matt’s hand around him pushes him up, up, high. So slow he can almost watch himself fall apart, fall through all the stages of his orgasm, wrapping around him, engulfing him, dragging him down. And he arches into the touch, the sensation even more intense with Matt’s cock stretching him, pressing deep against tight heat. Feels waves of warmth and goosebumps wash over his skin, muscles tensing, relaxing, shuddering. Feels Matt’s head press against his, a ragged moan leaving his lips, his body close. Alejandro pulls him in with his legs around his hips and his arms around his back, holds him, trembling.

They are panting, wrapped up in each other, Alejandro’s skin just as hot as Matt’s, his mind coming down from a high that leaves him deeply exhausted. Matt just seems to melt against his body without any intention to ever move again, face tucked against Alejandro’s neck.

Alejandro fumbles for the blanket draped across the back of the couch and pulls it over their naked bodies with hands and arms that feel numb with exertion.

He kisses Matt’s hair, strokes his fingertips down the nape of his neck, slowly pressing circles into his shoulders and down his back, feels him relax just a little bit more, feels himself drift in and out of sleep soon, brushing his lip across his brow, pressing a kiss there. Holding him close.

 

#  **Twenty-Two**

—is the name of the bar they leave just a couple of minutes after midnight because Matt obviously wants to crawl under his skin.

“Jesus, Matt! Just...let me open the goddamn door.”

He's very grateful now that they chose to go to the bar across the street because he can't imagine trying to walk for a couple of blocks or even get in a cab with Matt sticking to him like glue.

At first, he thought Matt had maybe overdone it with the drinks, getting really chatty and touchy-feely, hands all over Alejandro’s body. And he was amused and slightly glad they were on the East Coast. Free. Hidden away. And maybe, he thought, that was why Matt started to behave like a teenager drunk on hormones and too much alcohol.

“Matt, please!”

He's fumbling with the key to the door while Matt tries to wrap himself around his body like an octopus.

And it's not that he doesn't enjoy this, but he just can't believe this is happening because of the drinks. More like because of what's been in the drinks.

Matt likes to touch. Yes, he's a very affectionate man and that gets more intense when he's drunk, but not like this. Alejandro watched him lose control more and more in that bar until he decided it's enough and that he'll get him out of there _now_.

“Matt!”

The key finally turns and he pushes the door open while Matt presses his palm down the front of his pants. Alejandro drags him inside. They crash into the wall, Matt trying to open his belt buckle, Alejandro trying to get him to the stairs.

He's aroused, yes, because fuck, he's sure Matt has been drugged, but it's also insanely hot, the way he drags his whole body along Alejandro's, the needy sounds spilling from his lips, his hands just about everywhere.

But in the end, Alejandro wins. Kind of. Maneuvers Matt up the stairs and thank god, the small apartment they rented is on the second floor, so come on, that last step. And he's wrestling with the key to another door and Matt actually manages to open not only his belt but also his pants. Hands inside and—fuck!

Alejandro grabs his head and kisses him hard, pulls him inside, a kick shutting the door with a loud bang. They stumble through the small corridor and into the bedroom, and the way Matt presses against him is so fucking desperate.

Matt's skin feels hot under his palms and he's moaning constantly, face pressed against Alejandro's neck. Rock hard, rubbing himself on Alejandro's thigh. Hands inside his pants and hasty, too much.

“Easy sweetheart, easy.”

He mumbles into Matt's ear, which only gets him another moan, and he gently tugs at Matt’s hands.

“Here, let me help you.”

He pulls Matt's shirt over his head, opens his pants to free his cock, leaking and hard, wraps his hand around him.

Matt almost whimpers, fingers tugging at Alejandro’s shirt. Impatient.

Alejandro pushes Matt's pants down, makes him step out of them, then gets rid of his own clothes. Shirt. Pants. Matt has his palms on every part of bare skin that he can reach, presses against him when he’s fully naked. Hot skin against Alejandro’s body. He tries to walk him to the bed, Matt clinging to him, but before they reach it, Matt slides down to his knees, wrapping a hand around his cock.

Alejandro growls, pulls him up again.

“Oh baby.”

Kisses his sweet lips.

“Not like this.”

And gently pushes him back and down onto the bed, following him quickly, settling between Matt’s legs, pushing at his thighs to open for him. There’s lube on the bedside table and when he reaches for it, Matt wraps his arms around his back and pulls him down.

Alejandro laughs against his skin.

“You’ve got to let me do this, Matt.”

Matt grunts, but doesn’t let go, holds him close, tight. Alejandro manages to coat his fingers with lube, more or less, making a mess between their bodies, laughing at that.

“Oh god.”

He’s still chuckling when he presses the tip of his finger against the tight ring of muscles, making Matt moan. And he feels so much love looking at him now, eyes closed, back arched. Alejandro brushes his hands through Matt’s hair.

“Jesus, look at you.”

Pushes his finger inside. And Matt meets him, hard, bucking down, clutches at his arm and it’s clear what he wants.

Alejandro watches him closely while he works a second finger inside, trying to catch any sign that his intoxication is covering up pain he might actually feel. He takes one of Matt’s hands in his and drags his palm through the mess he’s made on Matt’s belly, smearing lube over his hot skin with their joint hands, making him grip his own cock, wrapping both their hands around him.

“Show me, darling.”

Matt moans and his eyes open, watching his own hand, stroking himself, Alejandro’s wrapped around him. Looking at Alejandro through heavy lids, pulling him down again with his free hand.

Alejandro needs to let his fingers slip out to brace himself on the bed so he won’t crush Matt with his weight, and Matt just uses that moment to wrap his legs around his body, high up over his waist. And really, he never had a chance, not with the way Matt tries to keep their bodies as close as possible, to have as much skin on skin as he can get, not with the sweet sounds that are constantly spilling from his lips.

And when Alejandro pushes inside, Matt crosses his ankles behind his back and pulls him in with surprising strength. They both moan and Matt’s hand slows down around his cock, takes Alejandro’s and tugs until he’s flush against him, heavy on top of him. And Alejandro understands that he needs this more than anything else really right now, having him this close, and he pushes his hands between Matt’s body and the sheets, grabbing his ass and lifting him up just a little bit, but it’s exactly the right angle, and when he starts moving, Matt arches against him, fingers digging into his back.

He never pulls back much, just rolling his hips into Matt. It takes longer for him like this, but it’s more intense for Matt, and the way their bodies are pressed together seems to only heighten that sensation for him. Matt is clinging to him, wrapped around him, moaning, lips leaving ghost kisses against his shoulder.

Alejandro keeps his rhythm. Everything is slick with sweat and lube between their bodies, Matt’s cock trapped between them, and he feels his own release build up. He pants against Matt’s neck, sucks at his skin there, gets lost in his moans.

And it suddenly strikes him how much he loves to hear him moan. Maybe more than anything else. That he can make him sound like this. That Matt lets him hear this. And how much he wants to hear him like this forever. Those sounds echoing the rhythm of his body. Moving together, giving and taking, merging. One. Like this.

And his whole body tenses. He presses himself into Matt, pulls him up against him, his own moans mingling with Matt’s. Matt’s arms and legs tightening around him, holding him.

They freeze like this, stay like this. Until Alejandro relaxes against him, presses kisses against Matt’s neck.

He’s still trying to catch his breath, but tries to push himself up to give him some room. But Matt voices his protest with a moan and holds him tight, and Alejandro is too exhausted to even laugh, but he hums and rolls them around so he’s at least not crushing him.

But when he lets his hand slip between their bodies, Matt grabs it, makes that same noise and simply wraps it around his back again. Alejandro tries to get a look at him, but Matt snuggles against him, eyes closed, looks like he’s already almost asleep.

He’s not sure if Matt came together with him, before that or at all. Everything’s sticky between them. But he’d be the last one to wake him up for that now. And maybe that wasn’t even what he needed. In a way, he’s just glad Matt is exhausted enough to sleep now and he hopes that whatever was in his drink has left his system when he wakes up in the morning.

The sudden thought that this could have happened without him being there makes his stomach clench. The possibilities of this. He wraps himself tightly around Matt, covers them both with a blanket, wants a dozen more to hide him in his arms.

The thought of what could have happened.

Ways to find out who had done this.

But now he just wants to be here with him, watching over him in his sleep. And he pushes that thought aside.

For now.

 

#  **Twenty-Three**

—is the time. And he gets up. Leaves Matt. Sleeping. They've gone to bed early tonight. Exhausted. Both of them. Just came home after a job. A week full of tense waiting.

And he's grateful for that. Going to bed early. Grateful for Matt sleeping peacefully now. Because he needs that time. Needs it for himself. Needs that space now.

He slips into a pair of Matt's soft sweatpants that his bare feet find in the dark. And he steps outside on the porch. It's cold. And he's grateful for that too. Because he needs that too. It's easier this way. Easier to remember.

There's a number attached to that time, a number of years, but it's not important. Not to him. To him, only the time matters. This time. Returning after every full year.

Because a number of years ago at this time, he's been telling Sofia he's going to come to her now. Because he can't protect her from this place.

Going to follow you now.

And he would have. Easy now. Clear head. Calm.

He would have followed her.

If not for the man who had stepped between the ghosts.

Who had made them flee forever.

And god, he had been angry at him for this.

For taking his ghosts away.

For making him look at himself.

At what he had done.

For dragging him out into the world that didn't want him and that he didn't know how to navigate anymore.

For making him feel all that pain again.

For forcing him to eat and drink and breathe.

For wiping away blood and tears and sweat.

For showing him the strength of his own body.

For saving him.

And he looks at his hands. Bloody.

Bare feet. Bloody.

And the cold ground burning into the soles of his feet feels like the pain of glass shards burning back then.

The railing digging into his palm feels like the sleek metal of the loaded gun in his hand.

And he blinks and there is no blood.

And he blinks and there is no gun.

And he blinks and he's still here.

And the only reason for that is sleeping peacefully in their bed in the warm room behind his back.

And he wants to turn around and go there, get back to that wonder, sprawled out, warm skin.

Go back and look at it.

But he can’t.

Not now.

He needs to stay.

Just for a little bit.

Needs to feel.

The cold seeping into his hands and feet, wrapping around his body until he can't hold back the tremors.

He needs to stay just a little bit.

Have this moment to himself.

To remember.

That this is real.

That he has been dead. Cold.

And that he's alive now. Warm.

And he never wants to forget what it felt like because it makes every moment of warmth just more special.

Because he never wants to forget what a miracle it is that he's still here, never wants to forget what life tastes like, how skin feels like under his fingertips. How his name sounds like on his tongue.

He never wants to take that for granted again.

So he stays. In the cold.

And when he moves back inside, his feet are numb on the floor and his hands are numb when they pull down the pants. Numb with cold, numb with pain. Blood, no blood. Shards, no shards. And I will come to you, Sofia. I promise. Tell your mom I love her. And I love you too. But I need to stay first. I need to. Because I got this time as a gift and you don't throw gifts away.

And he slips under the blanket and he presses himself against that warm body and Matt stirs and turns around and wraps his arms and legs around Alejandro and Alejandro feels the cold drain from his body and evaporate against Matt's skin.

And he doesn't forget now because he's felt the cold. But he seeks the heat now because he's tasted it.

And there's Matt in this bed with him and he's warm.

And he can sleep now because he knows he'll wake up again tomorrow.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, again and always, alejandroxmatt and hurricane_in_space, for countless inspirations! <3


End file.
